Circumstance
by Libellule
Summary: Snape’s position as a spy is compromised when Harry’s life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together. NOT HBP COMPLIANT ch27 quote: Snape studied him seriously, his black eyes searching Harry’s green ones before saying, “I can do all those thi
1. A life displaced

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling.  This story is just for kicks and giggles.  

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened.  The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?

Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter One

Of all things that Dumbledore hadn't anticipated, it was the stupidity of muggles.  His best laid plans were ruined one warm summer night when an ordinary, muggle burglar decided to break into number four Privet Drive.  

He didn't make off with much before Uncle Vernon came bounding down the stairs.  Only a mantle clock and some gold candlesticks were missing in the morning.  Of course, it would be Harry's bad luck to have been the only one to clearly see the burglar (Uncle Vernon had tripped on his slippers and tumbled down the stairs, scaring the burglar out).  For that reason Harry was dragged out of the house and down to the police station a few days later to attempt to ID the fiend who'd made off with what Aunt Petunia insisted were family heirlooms.

Harry knew that he wasn't supposed to leave the safety of Privet Drive, but he had little choice with the police squad and Uncle Vernon bullying him into it.

After Harry had identified the poor bloke from the lineup (and Harry was sure it was him, the same pathetic looking burglar he'd seen from the doorway of his bedroom), he'd pretty much been forgotten.  

Uncle Vernon clamored on about his heroic endeavor to rid the scoundrel from his home, while Aunt Petunia pestered the police about her stolen keepsakes.  Dudley helped himself to several powdered donuts from the Police station break room.  It was during this ruckus that a uniformed police officer came up behind Harry, who was sitting on a bench outside the interrogation room.  

"Don't make a sound, Potter," he whispered, as he pushed something hard and small against his back.  

Harry felt the unmistakable tip of a wand sticking his ribs. 

"Stand up slowly and walk toward the exit," the man said.  

When Harry didn't move, he hissed, "Don't think I have any qualms about killing everyone in this room.  Unless you want innocent deaths on your conscience I suggest you get up."  

Even though Harry didn't much like his relatives, he didn't want them dead.  And he certainly didn't want the good people in the police station to be harmed.  

Harry did what he was told, staring desperately at his Aunt and Uncle, hoping that just this once they'd pay attention to him.  

Once outside the station, Harry didn't have time to take a single step before he felt the flustering lurch of portkey travel.  They appeared in a forest and as Harry stood there shivering in darkness in the middle of the day, Harry knew without a doubt that it was the Forbidden Forest.  

"Move," the man in the police uniform growled.  "And if you make so much as a whisper, you'll leave here with one less appendage."  He had a heavy hand clamped down on Harry's shoulder and a wand still pressed at his back.  

Harry felt panic slowly rising in his throat.  He was sure that this man worked for Voldemort.  How was he going to get away?  If his Aunt and Uncle had been supportive of Harry's Wizarding heritage, he might have been prepared for this.  His wizarding things wouldn't be locked away in a trunk or under a lose floor board.  His wand would be with him.  

_The wand!_  Harry's mind raced.  His only chance would be to try to get the wand from the man.  He knew he would only have one shot at getting it so he had to think carefully.

The man kept pushing him forward, and Harry stumbled over the uneven forest floor.  

"Keep up," the man ground out.  Harry steeled himself and counted to ten to keep his anger in check.  

The man shoved him again, this time sending Harry crashing to the ground.  The man mistepped, and stumbled over him.  Quickly, Harry swung his leg out, toppling his captor.  

Scrambling to his feet, Harry kicked the wand out of his hand.  They both lunged after it, but Harry was quick on his feet and grabbed it first.  

Harry pointed the wand at the man, his heart beating wildly from a mixture of excitement and fear.  

"Now you've done it, boy," the man said, sneering.  He made no attempts to move, but locked eyes with Harry.    

Harry wanted to use the wand and prove his ability to this man, but his instincts were telling him to run. 

"_Petrificus totalus!" Harry shouted, leaving the man immobile.  Pivoting fast, he took off in the direction they came from, hoping that the portkey was still operational.  The Forbidden Forest was a truly creepy place when one was tearing for dear life through it.  _

One moment he was running for his life and the next he was lying on the ground, trying to keep the world from spinning.  Had he slipped?  Somehow Harry didn't think so.  His mind screamed at his body-- he had to get up.  _Had. To. Get. UP!  But his body wouldn't comply.  _

Coming into view overhead were four figures in black from head to toe with dark masks on.  Harry's heart leapt into his throat.  Death Eaters.  Two of them seized him by his arms and pulled him up.  

"On your feet, Potter!"  One shouted grabbing him by a fist full of his hair.  "Now, move!"  

With a Death Eater on either side and one leading in front and another following behind, there was no escape.  

Harry couldn't believe this.  This day had started normally enough.  He'd woken in his small bed in Number Four Privet Drive, helped cook and clean up the breakfast, endured a moderate amount of taunting from Dudley, and sat down to read a muggle book before his day turned upside down.  Now, he was on his way to Voldemort and his death.  The reality of it had hardly sunk in—he'd be dead before he realized it.  

Lost in his thoughts, Harry was not paying attention to what was going on around him.  He was brought jarringly back to reality with a sharp blow to his face.  Seeing stars for a moment, Harry turned his gaze to the broad Death Eater in front of him.  He was very large-- tall and big.  The Goliath-like Death Eater loomed over him.

"Insolent boy!" He snarled.  "You will listen when I am speaking."  He raised his hand to deliver another blow, and Harry shut his eyes, readying himself for it.  

But the blow never came.  

Opening his eyes, he saw the Death Eater, who had been behind him, now standing at his side, holding the other Death Eater's arm in check. 

"That'll do," he said quietly, and Harry nearly gasped at the sound.  

Only one man could speak with that velvety voice.  It was Snape!  He tried not to let his breath quicken, but he couldn't help it.  There was a small glimmer of hope.  As much as they hated each other, Harry knew that Snape would help him.  Well, he hoped that Snape would.      

"What do you think you are doing?" demanded Goliath. 

"Our orders are clear," Snape said calmly.  "We are to deliver the boy unharmed to the Dark Lord."  

"A few blows don't make any difference," the big one snarled.  

"I wasn't aware that the Dark Lord's orders were up for interpretation," Snape said smoothly, the dangerous undertones in his words clearly coming through. 

The larger Death Eater wrenched his arm from Snape's grip, turned on his heel, and continued guiding the way.  Harry stared up at Snape, hoping for some sort of sign or clue, but Snape didn't look at him.  He returned to his position in the back.   

After several more minutes of walking, it was clear to Harry that Snape had no intention of doing anything to save him.  Harry thrashed against the two that were holding him.

"Struggle all you like," the one on his right said.  "You've nowhere to run."  

"Once the Dark Lord gets ahold of you you're as good as dead, Potter," said the Death Eater to his left.  "The Dark Lord is sick of all these games.  With you dead, all his power will be restored."  

Just then, they passed the man in the police uniform.  He was lying face down in the dirt-- dead.  

"You'll be joining him soon," hissed the Death Eater on his left.  

Harry continued to struggle.  He wasn't going down without a fight.  

"That's right, wear yourself out," The left said.  "There's no duel to prepare for-- just a little avada kedavra--."

"Will you shut up!" Goliath shouted, whirling around.  "Do not speak trifles to the boy!  Yes, the Dark Lord will kill him quickly-- but that's all the comfort he'll receive."    

Goliath stopped walking, and took a deep, calming breath.  "Now, you three wait here with the boy, while I see if they're ready for us."  

Harry watched as the Death Eater disappeared within the darkness of the forbidden forest.  He shivered in the cold.  Puffs of white breath heaved from him as he thought, _This is it.  This is how my life will end_.  

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, the Death Eater on his right gasped and crumpled to the ground.  

"Jenkins?"  The Death Eater on the left asked, looking at the unconscious man.  He glanced behind him, but didn't get the chance to utter a word before he too fell.   

Harry spun around and gazed up at Snape, whose wand was still aimed at the fallen men.  

"Come," he said.  Shocked, Harry didn't move, just stood there dumbly, mouth agape.  

Ripping off his Death Eater Mask, he snapped, "Quickly, Potter!  We have not a moment to waste."    

Harry jumped to action, running alongside the Potions master.  "Professor, I--." 

"Not now," Snape interrupted.  "They're coming."  

Suddenly, Snape seized him.  "Potter, stop!" he shouted, grabbing him by the collar, pulling him back.  Without any warning, a hex was hurtling at him.

"Expelliarmus!"  Snape deflected the curse readily, then turned, firing a hex behind them at the approaching assailants.  Harry realized that they would be surrounded by Death Eaters if they didn't reach the portkey within the next few minutes.      

"Drop!" Snape ordered.  

Feeling useless without his wand, Harry obeyed, diving into the dirt at Snape's feet.  In the distance he heard someone say to take them alive, that Voldemort wanted to deal with the traitor and the boy himself.  

Harry could see them now, Death Eaters coming out of the mist, like monsters in a B movie.  

"Watch out!"  Harry shouted as another Death Eater flung a hex towards them.  But Snape turned too late and was knocked to the ground.  Harry scurried to his feet towards Snape, but was warded back from him by incoming curses.  Only affording to be momentarily shaken, Snape regained his footing, dodging and deflecting hexes.    

Everywhere he looked he saw a Death Eater coming towards them.  There were too many now, Harry realized.  Snape would never be able to get them both out.  They were as good as dead.    

"You're mine now, Potter."  

Harry whirled around, looking up at Goliath, his wand thrust firmly in front of him.  "I've got something _unforgivably painful in store for you."  Goliath sneered, then his gaze shifted to someone behind Harry.  _

Harry stole a glance over his shoulder.  Snape stood fast, eyes narrowed and wand raised.  There was a Death Eater behind Snape with his wand trained on his back, awaiting orders from Goliath.  Snape's black eyes shifted from Goliath's wand to Harry's face, boring into his green eyes.  There was a choice here.    

To Harry, it seemed to happen in slow motion, for it was this moment that he would replay in his mind over and over.  Snape rushed forward, arms outstretching, grabbed Harry to him, shielding them both with his black cape-- Harry felt Snape's body shudder as a curse hit him-- _anima praecido, one Harry had never heard before and then-- the lurch of apparation.  _

An instant later they hit the ground hard, rolling together entangled in Snape's cape.  Harry laid still for a moment, catching his breath.  They were in another forest-- somewhere bright and warm, but completely unfamiliar to him.  He sat up, unraveling himself from Snape.  

Blinking in the bright sun, Harry asked, "Where are we?"  There was no response.  "Professor?"  Snape was sprawled out on his back, black hair splayed carelessly across his face.  He was unconscious.   

Harry hoped that he was only unconscious and not something worse as he leaned over him, trying to get a better look.  With no wand, there would be little he could do for him out in the middle of nowhere.  And he didn't really want to touch the greasy old git if he didn't have to-- he was sure that Snape would take points from Gryffindor for doing so anyway.  

Harry lowered himself to Snape's ear and shouted, "Professor Snape, are you with me?"  

That invoked an immediate response.  Snape's eyes flew open and he jerked forward so quickly that Harry had to jump back to avoid a literal tête-à-tête.

Snape brought a hand to his forehead as if to steady himself as he snapped, "Mr. Potter!"  

"Sorry," Harry said frowning.  "Are you all right, Professor?" 

"Of course!" Snape said irritably.  "But we don't have time for a chat now, Potter.  We must move, quickly."    

Snape pushed himself to his feet, a bit unsteadily.  He looked around, gaining his bearings.  Taking only a few steps, Snape reached out for the nearest tree to steady himself.  Harry stared up at him with a sinking feeling.  There was something wrong with Profesor Snape...  

"For Merlin's sake, Potter!"  Snape shouted.  "We haven't got all day!  Get up!"  He extended his hand to Harry.  Harry accepted it without comment, and hoisted himself up. 

They started walking together at a fairly swift pace, but soon Snape started to fall behind.  Noticing his quickening breath, Harry suggested that they stop for a moment.  Snape, being his stubborn, obstinate self ignored him and continued.  

Finally, Snape had to stop to catch his breath.  "Keep... going..." he heaved.  "I'm only a few paces behind you."  Worried, Harry started to move towards him, but Snape ground out, "Potter, go!"  

Harry did as he was told, stealing furtive glances over his shoulder to make sure that Snape was indeed following.  He couldn't believe what a hardheaded, mulish, stiff-necked, opinionated, unbudging git Snape was.  Too proud to admit that he needed a breather, let alone ask Harry for his help.  

"That stubborn, greasy haired--." 

Suddenly Harry heard a thud behind him, and the insults died on his lips.  Reeling around, he saw Snape collapsed on the ground.  

"Professor!"  Harry rushed back to him, dropping to his knees.  His face a pallid white, Snape struggled, inhaling jagged, raspy breaths.  He coughed-- Harry was horrified to see blood on his lips.  

"Professor, what-- how--."

"Listen--." Snape interrupted, then exploded into a coughing fit, blood sputtering up past his lips.  It was nearly a full minute before he could speak again.  Harry remained silent, not daring to say a word.  

"...keep going," Snape said softly.  "On the left... there will be a... a stone wall.  There's a house... beyond the wall.  It won't look like it, Potter, but there is."  Snape paused, struggling desperately to get air into his lungs.  "Tell the woman who lives there... that you're my... my student.  She'll take you in... you... you'll be... safe... there..."  Snape closed his eyes, trying direly to breathe.    

"What about you?"  Harry asked.  "Professor Snape?"  

Snape's coal black eyes opened slowly, dilated and tired.  "It doesn't matter... Potter, go."  

"But, I'm not going to just leave you--."  

"Go!" Snape yelled.  As another coughing fit seized him, he curled into himself as if trying to hold on.  Quietly he murmured, "Stupid Gryffindor honor... Potter, you must go... before they come..."  Snape closed his eyes again.    

"I'll go," Harry said.  "I'll get help, Professor."

Harry rose to his feet, and broke into a run along the path Snape had described to him.  The forest was green and gold, with long leaves of yellowing grass weaving between the trees.  Harry's mind raced as he sped through the woods.  How had this happened?  It had to be the curse that hit Snape before they apparated-- _anima praecido--_

Suddenly Harry realized that he was passing a stone wall.  He skidded to a halt.  Past the wall was a field of yellow grass with no trace of a house.  He stood in the summer sun, a warm breeze gently bending the grass, tousling his hair.  

Even injured, Snape had anticipated his doubt and had assured him that there was, in fact, a house-- but where?  Harry decided to get a closer look.  He walked up to the stone wall that stood at least six feet high.  Climbing it would be difficult-- especially with the poison ivy weaving around the stone blocks.  Harry knew he didn't have time to waste, so he jumped up as high as he could trying to get a good hold on it when he fell through the wall itself.

"It's an illusion," Harry whispered.  He looked up and there was a small, two floor cottage about twenty five feet away.  It looked as if no one had resided in the place for years, the way the ivy overtook the cottage.  It was warded by strong magic that he was sure would only allow him through the threshold if the owner permitted.

Harry raced to the front door, banging on it wildly.  

"Please, I need help!"  Harry shouted.  

A metal plate in the door slid back and a pair of old, hazel eyes looked down at Harry.  

"Who are you?"  The eyes asked suspiciously.  

"My name is Harry Potter-- I'm a student of Severus Snape."  

"Severus sent you?"  The small window closed and the door was thrown open.

An older lady with short, white hair and round spectacles came to the door.  She seemed very pleasant and what Harry suspected a grandmother might look like.  

Her pretty features twisted with concern.  "Why isn't Severus here himself?  He always comes himself."  

"Please," Harry pleaded.  "You must come.  Snape is hurt-- I think he may be dying.  Bring your wand, we could levitate him--."

"My wand?"  She asked.  "Why, I have no wand, dear.  I'm a muggle."  

To be continued…

* * * * * * * * * 

Author's note:

This story is based on a dream I had this summer over three nights.  It kept replaying in my head until I had an entire story plotted out. 

This is my first Harry Potter fiction--  shall I continue?

**Please review** --  How will I know if people like my work or if it's any good if no one reviews it?

Thanks much,

Li


	2. Softly, red colors my world

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling.  This story is just for kicks and giggles.  

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened.  The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?

Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Warning: Seeing the violent turn that this story has taken, I am raising the story's **rating to R.  Be advised that this chapter is very… bloody. **

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter two

Harry stood blinking in disbelief at the woman.  "You're a muggle?"  He asked.  "I mean, how can you-- that is, you don't have a wand?"

"No, my dear, I'm afraid not," She replied.  "But, Severus-- you said he's injured?"  

"Yes.  If you help me we might be able to--."

"Wait a moment!" She said quickly.  "Wait just a moment."  The woman disappeared into the cottage, leaving the door slightly ajar.  Harry heard through the opening a great shifting of things-- objects being moved aside, hitting the floor.  

"Here it is!" The woman said triumphantly.  She came to the door with a long wooden box.  "Will this do?" She asked, thrusting the box into Harry's arms.  

Raising the latch, Harry opened the box, and lifted out a polished black wand.  

"It's Severus's," She explained.  "He gave it to me in case I ever needed it... so many years ago now, I'd forgotten it."     

"We have to hurry-- he was really bad off when I left him."  Harry held out the wand to her, asking, "Can you use it?" 

"No," she said.  She pushed the wand back towards him.  "But you can.  Quickly--."  Closing the door, she ushered Harry down the steps.  

Without further hesitation, Harry led the way, into the field, through the illusion wall, back onto the forest path, moving as fast as he could with the older woman following close behind.  

They came upon Snape quicker than Harry had expected, seeing his dark form lying unmoving among the yellow grass.  

"Oh, Severus," the woman whispered when she saw him.  Promptly kneeling at his side, she brought his head into her lap.  Wiping the blood away from his mouth, and smoothing the hair out of his face, she implored him, "Can you hear me, dear?  It's Leonora.  Open your eyes." 

Harry crouched beside them, daring to ask, "Is he breathing?"

The woman, who called herself Leonora, leaned down over Snape, poising her cheek above his nose and mouth, feeling for breath. 

"Yes," she said.  "Barely."  Leonora looked over at Harry, asking, "What can you do for him?"  

"I don't know any healing spells that would help him," Harry started.  "I'm sorry.  But I can levitate him back to your cottage... at least I think I can." 

"Yes, you can, dear.  I have every confidence in you."  She smiled, reassuring Harry.  

Taking a deep breath, Harry pointed the wand at Snape.  Suddenly, remembering the trouble he had with wands in his first year, he lowered his arm.  "Maybe I'd better practice on something first."  

"If you feel you must," Leonora said.  She turned her attention back to Snape, stroking his hair gently.  She seemed like such a nice woman, Harry thought, and yet she was fond of Snape, who didn't have a nice bone in his body.  Harry would have to remember to ask her why, if he got a chance.     

Pointing at a rock that had the misfortune of being in Harry's line of sight, he shouted, "_Wingardium__ Leviosa!"  A burst of magic shot through the wand and the rock skidded across the grass at least ten feet until a tree trunk cushioned its flight.  It split the wood with a loud crack, becoming embedded in the base.  _

"That's enough practice," Leonora called.  "Come try it on Severus."  

Maybe the old woman's eyesight was waning, Harry thought.  He had just sundered a tree with that rock-- Snape's head would have smashed like a melon had he been in the rock's place.  

"Please, dear, he's fading fast," she implored.  "If we could just get him to the house..."  

"Okay," Harry said, aiming the wand at Snape again.  "Here goes nothing."  He tried it again, this time keeping the word gentle in his thoughts.  Snape slowly rose off the ground, wavering at first, and then as Harry got the hang of it, he floated steadily in the air.  

"That's marvelous," Leonora said.  

She glanced over her shoulder at Harry every so often as she led the way back to her house.  Harry was feeling tired by the time they were inside the cottage, but strained himself to levitate Snape into the upstairs guest bedroom, where he unceremoniously dumped him on the bed.  

"Oh, thank you," she said.  "Can you wait here with him, while I send a letter to Dumbledore and tell him that you're here?"  She stopped before she got to the doorway as if she'd forgotten something.  

"We were never properly introduced," She said, offering her hand.  "I'm Leonora Cwen."  

"Harry Potter," he said, giving her hand an able shake, "Pleased to meet you."  

"Now, I'll just be a moment, Harry, dear," she said, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Harry called.  "There are dark wizards out there who are probably looking for us.  Your letter might be intercepted and it would lead them straight to us."  

Leonora thought for a moment, running her fingers through her white hair.  "I think I'll invite Dumbledore for a spot of tea.  After all, I haven't seen him since Severus brought him here to ward the house.  I'm very anxious to talk to him, and I know he'll be relieved to hear from me."  She ended the statement with a finalizing nod.  "Yes, that will do just fine," Leonora said as she left the room.    

Harry grinned.  He liked her very much.  It was her cunning that must have appealed to Snape.  Yet, Harry couldn't image the event through which the Potions Master had befriended Leonora.  

Across the room, Snape's breathing suddenly became harsh, like a strangled gasp.  It sounded as though he might be waking.  Or maybe dying.  Harry couldn't tell which.  

He didn't want to go over to Snape, the man he despised most at Hogwarts, the man who hated him for being James Potter's son, and the man who he blamed for Sirius's death.    

Anger flared up in Harry.  _That greasy old git gets what he deserves! He thought heatedly.   _

A twinge of guilt sprang up inside him.  Somewhere, a voice inside Harry reminded him that Snape had just saved his life, through great personal risk.  It might even be the last thing that Snape ever did.  

Squashing that voice, Harry chose to remain angry, feeling righteous in his fury.  One good deed does not make up for a lifetime of sins.  

Harry stayed where he was, in a chair by the window.  The horrid, wheezy breathing grated on Harry's resolve.  It sounded terrible-- whatever was happening inside of Snape.  

Harry stared at Snape for a long time, really looking at his professor while he had the chance.  Lying in the bed, he looked rather small, not nearly as domineering as he did in the dungeons of Hogwarts.  There were deep circles under his eyes, betraying his fatigue; his face was drawn and nearly as white as the sheet he lay on.  

_He's just a man_, Harry realized.  Not an infeeling monster or a being of grandeur-- just a human being of flesh and bone who hurts and feels and lives and breathes and dies.  A human being can make mistakes when he holds to his own.  A human being can redeem himself through his actions.  

Harry was warring with himself against the crushing wave of sympathy and the simultaneous loathing he felt for Snape.      

With folded arms, Harry glared at Snape-- it was then that he noticed a tiny flicker of eyelashes.  Cautiously, he made his way over to the bed.  

"Professor?"  Harry asked uncertainly.  "Can you hear me?"

His dark eyes fluttered open, and he lazily turned them on Harry.  The rasp of Snape's breathing sounded more labored than it had a few moments ago.  That wasn't good.  

Fleeing from the room, Harry raced down the stairs to the landing, and shouted, "Leonora, he's awake, but getting worse-- you need to come now!"  

The old woman attached the letter to her owl's leg and shooed her out the window, then turned in the same motion running up the stairs to the room where Snape lay.  

She went straight to Snape's bedside, sitting on the edge of the mattress.  

"Severus, dear child, it's Nora."  She stroked his hair around his face.  "Open your eyes."  

Snape slowly peered up at her.  He raised his hand towards her, his mouth opening to speak, but Leonora shushed him.  

"Don't speak," she whispered.  "It hurts to speak doesn't it?"  

Snape's features twisted, and he nodded slightly.  Leonora clasped his hand in hers, her fingers entwining his long ones.  

"Just hold onto my hand," she said softly.  "Squeeze it when the pain is too great.  I've sent for Dumbledore.  I'm sure he'll come right away." 

Harry listened guilty as Leonora whispered words of comfort softly to Snape.  He felt as though he shouldn't witness such an exchange, that his presence violated their privacy.  Silently, he stole from the room, waiting down stairs in the parlor.  

Leonora's house was neat and clean, with no traces of wizarding effects.  There weren't many muggle touches either, Harry noted.  No television or stereo, no telephone or computer, just down to earth basics.  Through the window, Harry saw a large garden that was beautifully in bloom.  

_That is how she must keep busy_, Harry thought.  

He approached the glass, admiring her flowers.  As he passed the couch, he noticed a large picture frame on the end table.  Harry stopped, picking up the muggle photo for a better look.  

It was Leonora as a young woman-- probably the age Snape was now-- smiling grandly at the camera with her arms thrown about a boy.  The boy was small, probably eleven or twelve, with shiny black hair that fell to his shoulders and a familiar look to him.  Harry studied the picture carefully until he realized with alarm that the boy in the picture was Snape.  It seemed ridiculous to think, but Harry had never pictured Snape as a young boy.  He knew that was absurd, especially since Snape had gone to Hogwarts with his parents.  Snape put forth such a presence that it was difficult to image him as anything but the domineering Potions Master.  

There was a loud knocking on the door, startling Harry that he almost dropped the picture.  He carefully set it back down before cautiously approaching the door.  

On tip toe he peered through the eye piece.  On the other end Dumbledore was looking right back at him.  Harry unbolted the door and let the Headmaster in.  

"Harry-- thank Merlin," Dumbledore said as he stepped into the house.  "Half the wizarding world is looking for you.  Are you all right, my boy?" He asked placing his hands on Harry's shoulders, looking him in the eye.  

"Yes-- how did you get here so fast?"  Harry blurted.  "I mean, the owl was sent only an hour ago."    

Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling.  "Once the owl reached me, it was merely a matter of apparation."  

"It's good that you're here-- I'm not sure how much longer Professor Snape could hold out."  

The sparkle left his eyes as Dumbledore said, "It is best that you tell me exactly what happened from the moment you were abducted."  

As Harry relayed the story to Dumbledore, he remained quiet and attentive.  He only interrupted once.  "What curse was Professor Snape hit with?"  

"I believe the death eater said, 'anima praecido'."  Harry saw the warmth drain from Dumbledore's face.  "What does that mean Headmaster?"

"I'm afraid it's very serious, Harry.  Very complicated, dark magic," Dumbledore said gravely.  "Literally, it translates to mutilated soul."  

Harry did not like the sound of that.  "What will it do to Professor Snape?"  

Dumbledore contemplated Harry for a moment before answering plainly.  "The hex slowly weakens the lungs, ripping the insides to shreds until the victim asphyxiates or drowns in his own blood.  It's a slow death-- a traitor's death."  

Harry was appalled.  "It can be reversed, can't it?"

"Reversed? No," Dumbledore said softly.  "The damage that's already been done cannot be so easily mended with a counter spell."  

This must be extremely serious for Harry had never gotten such a direct answer from Dumbledore before.    

Dumbledore looked towards the staircase, "But we may be able to stop it before it's too late."  

_We?_  Harry thought as he followed Dumbledore up the stairs to Snape's room.  _What does he mean we?  He stood quietly by the window, noticing that dusk was approaching.  _

"I hope you don't mind Harry showing me in," Dumbledore began as he strode into the room.  "Leonora, I wish I was seeing you again under better circumstances."  

Leonora whirled around, obviously startled by his presence.   Her eyes were red and watery from crying and she held a bloodied cloth in her free hand.  

She turned back to Snape, saying softly, "Dumbledore is here, Severus.  He'd like to sit with you-- I'm not leaving you, dearheart.  I'll just be a few paces away."  Releasing his hand, she moved aside to allow Dumbledore through.  

Dumbledore sat deliberately on the edge of the bed, leaning over Snape with care distorting his countenance.  He didn't say anything, just studied Snape's face.   

"Headmaster..." Snape murmured, swallowing back blood.  

"Shhh," Dumbledore hushed.  "Save your strength."  

Snape shook his head, determined.  He was going to say his piece.  "...I tried, Albus, I did... had no choice, in the end... they would have killed him... tried to get him to safety...  they know I've betrayed them... m'sorry... they know... let you down..." 

"No, child, you did not let me down," Dumbledore affirmed.  He inclined towards him and said,"I am proud of you."  

Closing his eyes, Snape turned his face away from Dumbledore.  Suddenly, he seized, his whole body racking as he coughed, blood spattering onto the sheets.  

Dumbledore stood, looking straight at Harry.  "Quickly, we haven't much time.  I'll need you to help me, Harry."  

"But, sir, I don't even have a wand," Harry protested.  "What good am I without one?"

"Nonsense, you'll be fine," Dumbledore said, and then he added, "Between you and me, we're the only chance he has."  

Harry didn't like those odds.  

Dumbledore switched his attention to Leonora.  "Do you have abscess root growing in the garden?" 

"No," she answered, frowning.  "But I do have comfrey, will that do instead?"

"Yes, I should think so."  

"I'll bring some up right now," she said, swiftly leaving the room.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry.  "Don't be nervous, Harry, all you need to do is catch."  

"Catch?"  Harry asked.  

"Yes, it'll be rather like Quidditch."

Leaning over Snape, Dumbledore gently palmed his face.  "Severus, I'm going to extract the parasite.  Do you understand what that means?"

"It's too late... Albus..."  Snape rasped.  

"Of course it's not," Dumbledore said sternly.  "I have not given up on you, dear boy, and I expect you not to either.  Now, brace yourself Severus."  

"Yes... Headmaster..."  

Dumbledore took his wand and laid the tip on his left palm.  Bringing his wand straight up, he created a tall glass container.  

Handing it to Harry, he explained, "This is all you will need.  When the parasite exits, you must catch it and seal it in this container.  It will be disoriented for only a moment, and then it will fly about like a snitch.  It's best to capture it right away.  Do you think you can do that?"  

Harry nodded.  He was nervous-- much more than before any game of Quidditch.  He looked past Dumbledore to Snape lying on the bed in obvious torment.  Sweat glistened on his brow, matting his black hair to his face, and his breathing had become shallow and uneven.  Harry pushed the mixed emotions he was feeling away-- right now he wanted to save a life.  

Crossing the room, Dumbledore stood at Snape's left side, motioning for Harry to stand to his right with the container.  He placed his wand close to Snape's chest, hovering his left hand above.  Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore shut his eyes, keeping himself very still.  Then, as he exhaled, he intoned, "_Extractum_!"  

Snape convulsed, the magic tearing through him recklessly, searching for the parasite without regard to the human host.  Eyes closed in dire concentration, Dumbledore held his hands over Snape, soughing a curious litany of spells, trying to keep him stable.  

Blood exuded from Snape's mouth, leaking down his chin.  Harry inhaled sharply.  He was going to be sick.  Snape's life was seeping out before his eyes.  Without warning, Snape spasmed, throwing up a mass of blood and with it, the parasite.  It flew across the bed sheet, leaving a red trail in its wake.

The parasite looked like a small Cornish pixie.  It was about the size of Harry's thumb.  It glistened red, its sharp nails and teeth stained with Snape's blood.  

_That _thing_ was inside his lungs?  Harry thought.  The parasite suddenly flew up, hovering a moment, fluttering its wings, trying to dry them.  Harry dove forward, trying to capture it beneath the glass.  It veered away, just as fast as a snitch.  Harry watched its jerky movements carefully.  He had to get it before it became accustomed to its surroundings.  This would be tricky without a broom.  _

The parasite buzzed around Harry's head before shooting around the room.  Suddenly, it landed on the shade of the lamp on the night stand, fluttering its wings.  Lunging for it, Harry didn't even come close to capturing it before it flew away again.  It was drawn to the various light sources around the room.  

_It's cold_, Harry thought suddenly.  _It's seeking warmth from the light_.  

Quickly, Harry grabbed the lamp from the night stand and pulled the shade off, tossing it to the floor.  Attracted to the brightest light in the room, the parasite flew directly towards the exposed bulb.  At the last moment, Harry dropped the lamp and held up the container.  The parasite flew directly into the jar, which magically sealed itself.  

The parasite scratched at the glass, hopelessly trying to claw its way out.  

"Well done, Harry," Dumbledore remarked.  

Harry had been so intent on catching the parasite that he'd altogether neglected the outcome of Dumbledore's efforts.  Ever so pale, with smudges of blood on his face, Snape rested on the bed, eyes closed, motionless.    

"Headmaster, is he-- is Snape--"  

"He's just sleeping," Dumbledore interjected.  "Well, unconscious really.  He'll have a long and tenuous recuperation, but I expect him to recover."

Harry nodded, feeling relief sink into his bones.  

"Now, Harry if you don't mind, would you go downstairs and inform Leonora?  I'd like some time alone with Professor Snape."  

Placing the sealed container on the night stand, Harry left the room to find Leonora.  

_Now that I have some good news to report, maybe I can find out more from Leonora,_ Harry thought_.  Like how does she know Snape?  And when exactly was that picture taken?   _

To be continued…

* * * * * * * * * 

Author's note:  Many, many thanks to everyone who took the time to review.  It is truly motivating to get reviews—that said, if you wouldn't mind taking a moment to review this chapter as well, I'd be most appreciative.  

I guess I should also mention that I am on winter break right now, so I am writing more than I would normally.  I will try to get as many chapters out there before I go back to school.  

Any further comments can be sent to me at:

Li_bell_ule@yahoo.com

Thanks much, 

Li


	3. Answers break upon the truth

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling.  This story is just for kicks and giggles.  

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened.  The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?

Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Warning: This story is rated **R.  Those with faint hearts please turn away.  **

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Three

Harry found Leonora in the kitchen.  She was washing the comfrey root in the sink as water boiled in a kettle on the stove.  Engrossed in her process, she didn't notice Harry enter the room.

"Dumbledore says he's going to be okay," Harry said.

Startled, she whirled around, the wet comfrey nearly slipping from her hands.  

"Oh thank heaves," she breathed, relief obvious in her features.  "Harry, dear, you look a fright.  Why don't you sit yourself down and have a cuppa?  Keep an old woman company?"

"Okay," Harry replied, taking a seat at the counter.  

Leonora stood on the other side, drying the comfrey and other plants freshly pulled from her garden.  

"What's that for?" Harry asked, "That is—what will it do for Snape?"

"There are plants that are valuable in both the muggle and wizarding world—Comfrey is one of them.  It will stop the bleeding in his lungs.  There are many useful plants in my garden, including magical ones, thanks to Severus."  

"I've been meaning to ask you," Harry began.  "How do you know Snape?"  

Leonora smiled.  "I suppose it does seem rather unlikely that he would even associate with a muggle."  She began to peel the comfrey root as she spoke.  "Many years ago now, my husband was killed in a car accident.  As you can imagine, I was heartbroken.  We had no children, and I was very much alone."

"That must have been awful," Harry said quietly.

Leonora nodded.  "I was so terribly lonely.  Nearly three months had gone by when as I was coming home from work there was a young boy wandering outside my flat.  He was very peculiar—he had black hair cropped to his chin and a long black robe tattered along the bottom hem.  I watched him carefully—it was obvious that he was lost and confused.  Finally I approached the boy and asked him if he was okay, but he didn't answer—poor boy just stared at me, saying nothing.

" 'What is your name?' I asked him.  And I'll never forget the terrified look on his face as he answered, 'I can't remember.'

"The boy—as you must have guessed—was Severus, but not knowing his real name, I called him Michael, what I would have named my son if I had had one."

"Michael?" Harry interrupted with a smile.  "If he had to have a muggle name, I guess Michael suits him."

"I thought so," she said.  "I brought him to hospital, but the doctors couldn't find anything physically wrong with him.  They told me that he had all the signs of post traumatic stress disorder, they notified the proper authorities, and I took him home with me.  

"The nature of his memory loss was peculiar.  He couldn't remember personal things, but he also seemed to have no recollection of the ordinary—like how to use a telephone or what a television was—yet he retained all his reading and language skills.  In fact, the only thing he was interested in was reading novels that were very advanced for a boy his age.  

"I was happy to oblige him his every desire.  He had a bit of a temper when provoked and then recoiled in fear of retaliation.  It was apparent to me that he must have come from an abusive home.  I tried my best to be a good mother, after never having been one before.  I took him places I thought a little boy would enjoy— to football games, and movies, and out to dinner.  I forgot my loneliness, and he his sorrow."  

"The picture by the couch," Harry began, "was that from when you first met?"      

"Yes," she smiled.  The kettle on the stove was screaming, and she prepared a cup of tea for Harry while she spoke. "I'd taken him to a fair.  Michael had warmed up to me, finally, after a month.  I loved him dearly even after such a short time.  We were happy together.  And then one day, I came home from work and he was clearly upset.  He wouldn't talk to me at first.  He was hostile to me and anything I said or did.  So I sat quietly, watching him pace angrily and frustrated, and I waited.

"Finally he blurted, 'I've remembered'.  Then he told me that his name was Severus Snape, he was a wizard and I was a filthy muggle."  

"What did you do?"  Harry asked, accepting the steaming cup from Leonora.    

"I had no idea what to make of it—was he lashing out, a cry for attention?  Or was it worse, was he delusional?  After all, I didn't really know anything about him, or where he'd come from.

"He continued on his tirade.  He'd just gotten off the Hogwarts train, returning from his first year of school.  His mother had picked him up at the station, but they weren't going straight home—they had to meet his father in the city.  They waited for him until after dark in muggle London.  

"He became quiet then, and remained so for a long time.  I thought he might be finished with his tale, but that was not the case.  

"His mother was reading, and told her son to have more patience.  She suggested that he take a walk if he wanted, but if he was late coming back Merlin help him.  Being only ten, he was restless and chose to explore.  Walking down the darkening streets, looking at the muggle shop windows, he heard a scream.  Severus peered around the corner into an alleyway, and saw three men with masks and long robes pointing their wands at a young woman.  Severus knew who the men were, knew who they worked for.  He was about to leave, not wanting to witness her fate when he heard his father's voice among the men.  He turned back, frozen to his spot."

Leonora became very quiet, trying to restrain her anger.  

"To put it mildly, they were molesting the woman.  When they were finished, they killed her.  Severus tired to ignore it, to forget, but he kept hearing his father's voice in his head, saying those horrible things.  The poor boy just wanted to forget, to get the voice out of his head.  He never meant to cause so much damage.  He'd tried to put a mild memory charm on himself—but he botched it, wiping out everything.  

"He was angry because he'd gotten the spell wrong—if it had worked properly he never would have remembered who he was at all. 

" 'You don't believe me,' he said.  And how could I respond?  I'd never heard of such a place—a wizarding world.  Before I could even reply he said, 'I'll show you.'  

"I decided to let him—what could it hurt? I thought it would destroy his delusions and he'd start to make sense again.  How was I to know how wrong I was?  

"Holding my hand tightly, Severus led me through muggle London to Diagon Alley.  I must have walked through the entire place, my mouth agape.  I was frightened and awestruck at the same time.  Was I dreaming?  Could such a place be true?

"Then he pulled me aside, away from people's glares.  

" 'I have to go back,' he whispered.  'I don't want to.'

" 'But Michael—' I began, but he cut me off.

" 'My name is Severus Snape.  Please don't forget."

"And then he was gone.  He ran away from my grasp into the crowd.  I managed to find my way back.  By the time I arrived at my flat I was certain I'd made the whole thing up—but Michael—or Severus—wasn't there.  He'd gone."

"He just left you?" Harry asked.

Leonora nodded.  "I spent the entire month of July alone, trying to forget the little boy who'd brightened my existence.  Then one Sunday morning in August came a timid knock on my door.  And there he stood, dressed in full wizarding attire.

" 'I told my parents I was staying with a friend,' he said simply.  His parents had been furious with his disappearance, and he'd been duly punished for risking magic in the muggle world.  Oddly, they weren't so concerned with his four week disappearance, at least Severus made it seem that way.  I gladly accepted him back into my home.  We spent the next two weeks together.  I was the one who brought him to platform 9 ¾ to return to Hogwarts for his second year.  

"I told him he could stay with me anytime for however long he wanted.  From what I could discern from the snippets that Severus told me, I did not like the Snapes or how they treated their young son.  During the school year, I started receiving owls.  Severus explained about his life as a wizard, how he was doing at Hogwarts, and the pressures of being a part of the Snape family.  I was so proud of him, beaming like the mother I always wanted to be.  This is how it was between us—he'd write letters whenever he could and he would visit me during Christmas.  

"As he grew older, I sensed an anger developing in him.  Not only did his friends push him towards the dark arts but his own father did as well.  I know his family looked down upon muggles and he was torn because he knew me and he knew that I was not any of the things they believed muggles to be.  Finally, he decided that I was the exception, but every other muggle was as filthy as he'd been told.  There was a very dark time in his life when the owls stopped coming, and he missed Christmas's with me.  

"Then one day he showed up at my door, just as he did that summer when he was ten.  Severus had come to say goodbye.  He'd done something he could never take back and for my safety he couldn't see me anymore."

"That must have been when he took the dark mark," Harry whispered.  

Leonora sighed, knowing what a grievous error it had been.  "He told me not to venture out alone after dark, trying to protect me against the Death Eaters.  He hugged me tightly, kissed my cheek, then apparated away.  

"I wouldn't see him again until many years later—on the eve before he would confess to Dumbledore.  I was thrilled to see him, and he seemed happy to see me, but worried.  He told me that he was going to try to atone for his sins—that he might be sent to Azkaban prison for life.  He also said that I could be in danger because of him, that I needed to go somewhere safe.  I agreed because he was so upset.  I would have done anything for him.  I came here, to this cottage.  The next day he confessed to Dumbledore.  

"And I believe the rest you must know.  He started working for Dumbledore shortly after.  Severus was still afraid that someone might follow him to me, and had Dumbledore ward the house."  

"I just—it's so unexpected," Harry said.  "I never thought Snape would know someone like you—let alone regard you as his surrogate mother.  I mean, you're so _nice."_

Leonora laughed at that.  "You don't much like Severus, do you, dear?"

"Well, we kind of have a mutual hatred," Harry explained.  

"Despite what you may think, Harry, I'm sure that Severus does not hate you," Leonora assured.  

"That's what you think—you've never been in his class!"  Harry said.  "He's brutal-- doesn't let a thing I do slip, and he takes tons of points away for every little thing—especially when it's not my fault."  

"Well, it sounds to me like he cares a great deal about you," Leonora replied with a smile.  At Harry's questioning stare, she explained, "Severus doesn't bother with things he doesn't care for.  It seems that he's gone through a lot of trouble to make sure that you do your best."   

"I wouldn't exactly think of it that way…" Harry grumbled.  

Leonora laughed again.  "I know that Severus is a difficult person, very demanding and stern, but he is a good man at heart, I promise you." 

Harry looked doubtful but knew better than to voice his misgivings.  Leonora loved Snape very much, and Harry didn't want to upset her with his contrary point of view.  

"It's just about ready," Leonora said.  Harry watched as she chopped the root into very fine pieces.  She scraped the pulp into a large mug, and then added boiling water to it. 

"Better add some witch hazel," she murmured, turning toward a large cabinet behind her.  Harry was amazed as she pulled back the door, revealing an array of glass jars, all neatly labeled and arranged in rows.  There must have been at least a hundred different herbs stored in that cabinet.  

"Don't look so surprised," she said.  "It's my business now.  I sell herbs to places all over England, including many wizard shops."  She removed a vial labeled 'witch hazel extract', handing it to Harry. "Add one teaspoonful would you, dear?" 

Snape obviously hadn't told her of his skill in potions.  Trying not to grin, Harry removed the cork, measured the witch hazel, and added it to the tea.  It was poetic justice that Snape would be drinking a mixture that had been aided by Harry's hand.  

His grin didn't last, however, as Leonora asked Harry to take it up to him.  "I'm an old woman now, Harry.  Not quite as steady as I was in my youth.  I wouldn't want to spill it."  

Harry nodded, carefully taking the tea upstairs to Snape's room.  He knocked on the open door to alert Dumbledore to his presence.  

"Harry, come in, come in," Dumbledore said with a smile.  

He handed the mug to Dumbledore, who turned to Snape.  He was sitting up, leaning back against the headboard, obviously doing much better now that he could breathe.       

"Severus you had best drink this right away," Dumbledore advised, offering the steaming cup to Snape.  "It's just comfrey root."  

Snape took it without question, taking a slow sip.  

"And witch hazel," Harry added quietly.  Snape's black eyes darted to Harry, peering piercingly over the lip of the mug.

Harry averted his eyes from the strong glare as Dumbledore said, "Shrewd woman, that Leonora."

Snape said nothing, taking another sip.  Suddenly, he thrust the mug to Dumbledore, coughing harshly.  Dumbledore handed him a handkerchief, and Snape wiped the blood from his mouth.  

"Is he all right, Headmaster?" Harry asked.  

"Yes.  It will take a few days before he stops bleeding entirely."

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," Snape growled.

"You see, Harry?  He's feeling better already," Dumbledore said, ignoring Snape gleefully.  "But we should let Professor Snape rest."  Without another word, he ushered Harry from the room.  

"You've done very well, Harry," Dumbledore said as they descended the stairs.  "You should be proud of the way you've handled yourself.  Professor Snape surely would have died, if not for your quick thinking."  

Harry shrugged.  "Honestly, sir, he did half the work—he brought me here and told me where to go.  And it was Leonora who owled you."  

"Even so, Harry, well done," Dumbledore replied.  He steered Harry into the living room, wanting to say something more to him.  "Harry we need to talk about what's happened."  

Harry didn't like the sound of that, but he sat without comment on the couch.  

"When Severus apparated away with you, he caused quite a bit of turmoil.  Do you understand the implications of his actions?"

"Well, he gave himself up, didn't he?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry, he did.  His position as a spy was sacrificed to save you." 

"It's my fault this happened," Harry murmured.  

"No, it most certainly is not," Dumbledore said sternly.  "If it is anyone's fault, it is mine.  I had not anticipated Voldemort using muggles to get to you, and I should have.  And now both you and Severus are in great danger."  

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.  "No offense, Headmaster, but I'm always in some kind of great danger, and as I understand it, so was Snape."

"Harry, I don't think you understand just what's happened," Dumbledore said with a frown.  "Severus was very close to Voldemort—within his inner circle of death eaters.  His betrayal has led to a nation wide manhunt.  Every wizard loyal to Voldemort is looking for him and you."  

"Then, we shouldn't be here," Harry said quickly.  "Leonora is in danger—we should be at Hogwarts."  

Dumbledore smiled sadly.  "I'm afraid that it isn't as simple as that.  If you were to go there now, I fear you'd never leave it.  You'd be trapped there."  

"So what are we going to do?  Wait here for them to kill us?"  Harry retorted.  

"Harry, you must understand that right now Voldemort is expecting you to go to Hogwarts.  He wants you there where you will be contained.  I'm afraid your protection cannot be guaranteed."  

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm proposing a little misdirection," Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling.  "We'll let Voldemort think that you and Severus are at Hogwarts, and in the meantime you will be far away—the farther from Hogwarts the safer you will be." 

Harry shook his head, "But where will we go?  And I still don't understand how being away from Hogwarts is safe."  

"Don't worry about that now," Dumbledore said.  "You'll have to stay here a few days before Professor Snape is fit to travel and by that time the plan will be set in motion."  

"So not only is my life in danger, but I have to spend the summer traveling with Snape?"  Harry asked, incredulously.  

Dumbledore smiled, "Now, Harry, it's not that bad.  I assure you there are worse things than spending time with Professor Snape."

"The only thing worse is being caught by Voldemort," Harry grumbled.  

Dumbledore looked at him, a serious shade of blue twinkling in his eyes, "Yes.  You'd do well to remember that."       

To be continued…

* * * * * * * * * 

Author's note:  Your reviews warm my heart—thank you so much everyone!  I wrote this chapter for you all.  Please take a moment to review this chapter too.  

My winter break is over and I'm back to school now.  That means that my free moments will be few and far between.  However, with the right motivation, I'm sure I could be persuaded to procrastinate.  *grins* (Don't worry, I procrastinate all the time).  Please be patient with me as I return to school.  

Also, I have two paintings I've done of Snape posted on my website.  Please take a look!  If you like them, prints are available at a very reasonable price!  No obligations, of course.  Enjoy. 

(There's a hidden link on the page to view the paintings at a larger size, just highlight around the pictures and you'll find it—for some reason the text is black and tripod won't let me change it!)

Any further comments can be sent to me at:

Li_bell_ule@yahoo.com

Thanks much, 

Li


	4. A Journey begins with a single step

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together... will they survive?

Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once... by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Four

Dumbledore stayed with them as long as he could, but left before dawn the following morning. It was necessary, Dumbledore had explained, that he was seen at Hogwarts in order to set his plan for their futures in motion.

In the mean time, Harry stayed with Leonora, sleeping on her couch in the living room. The next few days were blessedly Snape free as Harry had managed to avoid any task that might bring him into the Potion Master's room.

Dumbledore left strict instructions for Snape to remain bedridden, which the obstinate Potions Master neglected completely. Snape had no intention of submitting to assistance a moment longer than necessary.

After days of lying in bed, Snape had had enough. In the early hours of the morning, when the sky was dark and the birds were waking, when Leonora and Harry were still deep in sleep, Snape eased himself out of bed. Slowly, testing out the limitations of his recovering body, he walked down the hallway to the upstairs bath. It took him a moment to remember how to work the muggle water fixtures, but his irritation disappeared in the soothing stream of a hot shower.

Snape washed the filth of sickness from him, feeling relief from such a basic act. He barely looked in the mirror, but when he did catch sight of his reflection once the steam had lessened, he studied himself closely.

The parasite had done quite a number on him. Snape supposed he'd come very close to death's door and he certainly looked the part. Skin devoid of color, deep purple bags under his eyes, he looked like the living dead.

He smirked at his reflection. _No wonder I frighten children_, he thought.

When he finished in the bathroom the sun was just rising, casting blue light through the east windows. Snape peeked over the railing down into the living room. Harry Potter was asleep on the couch below.

_Potter_. Snape just couldn't get away from the young Gryffindor. Their lives were moving in intertwining circles, much to his dismay. Ever since he'd met James Potter in his first year at Hogwarts, he'd wanted nothing more than to get away from Potter and his kin. It seemed that fate had other plans for him.

Snape did not think it wise to attempt to descend the stairs today. _Lucky for Mr. Potter._ Tomorrow, perhaps, he'd venture to the lower level.

His morning jaunts became a ritual of sorts. Each morning Snape woke before the birds, crept down stairs, and brewed a cup of tea in the early silence. It was soothing to be back in the place he considered a second home, even if it was encroached by one Harry Potter.

Snape managed to avoid waking Harry as he rummaged around the kitchen until the third morning. He heard the boy stirring, turning awkwardly on the couch. Snape was as quiet as he could be, moving cautiously around the kitchen, hoping that Harry would fall back asleep. His carefulness was in vain, however, as Harry peeked over the back of the couch staring sleepily at him.

Snape scowled. He'd been caught out of bed by Harry Potter. If he hadn't been so annoyed he might have appreciated the irony.

The boy sat up, clearly surprised to see his professor. "You're up," Harry said dumbly.

"So it would seem," Snape remarked. He hoped that for once the boy would leave him be. He wasn't ready for a battle of wits with a teenage boy, so he threw Harry the nastiness glare he could muster.

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence, looking like he was about to drown. "Feeling better?" he ventured timidly.

"Your powers of observation astound me, Potter," Snape hissed. With that Snape relieved them both, making his way slowly up the stairs to his room.

Harry didn't come up to see him, and Snape didn't inquire as to his presence. Smiling, pleased with himself, Snape figured he'd convinced the boy of his irritability enough for Harry to leave him alone for the duration of their stay at Leonora's cottage.

That was not the case.

The next morning Snape was enjoying an herbal remedy out on the garden terrace when Harry pulled back the glass door and stepped out into the blue dawn with him.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, eying the hand rolled cigarette. "Isn't that illegal?"

Snape held his breath as long as he could before turning his head, and releasing the smoke over his shoulder away from Harry.

"One," Snape began as he quickly stamped out the joint, "what I do is none of your concern. Two, substances that are prohibited under muggle law are not necessarily illicit in the wizarding world. And three, this is stramonium which is perfectly legal to smoke in any society."

"Stramonium?" Harry asked.

"I should have known that you pay no more attention in Herbology than you do in Potions," Snape sneered. "Stramonium is the dried form of what is commonly known as thornapple."

Harry frowned. "If this thornapple is so legal, then why did you snuff it out when I came out here?"

"I have had quite enough of your impertinence for one day, Mr. Potter," Snape snarled, standing as he spoke. He swept past Harry moving smoothly despite his injuries, his black robes flaring behind him in the breeze as he pulled back the sliding door, and stepped inside.

Snape hoped that Harry did not notice that he had avoided the question, and had taken the burnt out joint with him.

Harry was bored stiff— so much so that he actually volunteered to help Leonora with the housework. He was ordered by both Leonora and Snape to stay inside, lest Voldemort and his cronies were lurking about in the garden. Harry thought the whole thing ridiculous. He was no safer in the house than he was outside with a muggle woman, a wounded wizard and no wand to protect him.

Snape was back to his usual sneering and disdainful self, and yet Harry looked forward to meeting him every morning— he grinned impishly— if nothing else than to annoy his old Potions Professor. It was obvious that Snape wanted nothing to do with him, and therefore Harry gladly woke with the birds each day.

One morning, six days since this whole ordeal began, Harry awakened to hushed voices. He wondered what had caused him to suddenly wake up— it was before even the birds had decided to rise.

"...easy now. Don't upset yourself."

It was Dumbledore, and from the racking cough, Harry knew he was talking to Snape.

"Albus," Snape said when he finally could speak, "this isn't wise."

"Of course it is, Severus. I told you before I left that this would happen. Nothing has changed since then. Thought I would reconsider?"

Snape was quiet in what Harry could only term silent resignation.

"How long?" he murmured.

"Until we can build our defenses up," Dumbledore replied. "Until you and Harry's safety can be guaranteed."

"It'll be forever, then," Snape remarked. "Or until I die."

"Four weeks," Dumbledore said.

Snape snorted, "Four weeks with Harry Potter? Might as well be forever."

"I'm sure Harry will be delighted— won't you Mr. Potter?"

He didn't know how Dumbledore knew, but Harry was caught. He sat up guiltily, looking over at the two wizards sitting at the kitchen counter.

"You remember what we talked about before I left, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, of course," Harry replied. How could he forget his fate for the summer?

"Good, good," Dumbledore said, "You'd best get some rest because you're leaving in the morning."

The only good thing that came with Dumbledore's return was a satchel of Harry's personal effects. Dumbledore had seen to it that his wand, his invisibility cape and some of his other wizarding belongings were back in his hands. Not among his possessions was his beloved owl, Hedwig. Dumbledore assured Harry that Hedwig was safely at Hogwarts in care of Hagrid.

What Harry did not expect to see was several new muggle outfits.

"Well, I thought these clothes more appropriate than your old ones," Dumbledore said. "And traveling through muggle England in wizarding robes will not do."

Harry nodded gratefully. His wardrobe outside of Hogwarts consisted of his cousin's old hand-me-downs that were many sizes too large.

"Oh, and I thought this might be useful," Dumbledore added, handing Harry a small clothbound book. It was so old that the title had been rubbed off the cover and the spine.

Harry opened the book to the title page. "Magical resources in the muggle world," he read.

"Since you'll be traveling as muggles, your use of magic will be restricted. This book with help you throughout your expedition."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

"Beware, however. That it is a very old book. Study it very carefully. There are some spells inside that lean strongly on the dark arts. I trust your good judgment, Harry."

Harry nodded as he flipped through the book. The type was very small and there were black ink diagrams of various plants and animals. The drawings didn't move, but Harry supposed it was better that way in case someone noticed.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, turning to address the younger wizard, "I'm glad to see you're ready."

Harry did a double take. Snape appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black, long sleeved tee with a pair of sunglasses hanging from the collar. Never in a million years did Harry think he'd ever see Professor Snape in muggle clothes.

As he descended the stairs he frowned disapprovingly at Harry and growled, "Bee in your bonnet, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, trying not to let Snape intimidate him. They were going to be spending a lot of time together and Snape, beguiling as ever, would do his best to manipulate him.

Harry didn't care if Snape was protecting him or not— he wouldn't let his guard down around the former Death Eater.

"Are you packed at least?" Snape asked, coming up beside him.

Harry patted the backpack Dumbledore had brought him. "All set," he replied.

"Not quite," Snape said, rummaging through the messenger bag slung across his shoulders. He pulled out a small package wrapped in a cloth bandana and tied with twine.

Harry stared at the package suspiciously. "What's in it?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, take it!" Snape snapped angrily. "It's a small sampling of herbs from Leonora's garden. You'll need to be prepared if we become separated."

Accepting the bundle, Harry shoved it into his bag quickly. He wasn't surprised that Snape had thought to give him herbs. It was typical of his Potions professor to give him potions ingredients.

Harry was suspicious of Snape— that he'd had thought about the possibility of their separation. Was he intending it? Leaving Harry on his own once they'd left the city? Harry didn't know what he'd do on his own. But now that he knew what Snape was planning, he'd have to prepare a plan of his own.

"So serious."

Startled from his thoughts, Harry looked up. Leonora smiled back at him. She had a wide brimmed hat on her head and a small suitcase in her hand.

"You're coming with us?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Yes," she answered at the same time that Snape said, "No."

"Absolutely not," Snape retorted, folding his arms across his chest. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm sorry, but my mind is made up," Leonora said sternly. It was the closest to angry that Harry had ever seen her.

Snape turned to Dumbledore for support. "She can't come with us."

"You're right, Severus," Dumbledore began. "Not the entire journey, anyway."

Snape was nodding in agreement then stopped abruptly, shouting, "What? No! Albus, she can't come at all!"

Harry couldn't help but grin as Snape stormed about incredulously, realizing he was outnumbered.

"Voldemort's supporters will be looking for a pair, two people, a young boy and man. With Leonora you'll throw them off at least until you can get out of the city."

"We're going to London?" Harry asked.

"The fastest way to obscurity is to take the train," Dumbledore said. "And the best place to hide at this moment is in plain sight."

"Really?" Snape sneered, still annoyed that he'd been overruled. "I always thought the best place to hide was under the bed."

Dumbledore smiled at the scowling wizard, saying, "Not in this case."

He led the way to the front door, glancing quickly out the front window. Dumbledore put on a good front, but he was as cautious as they come.

"Are you ready, Harry?" He asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be," he said as he opened the door and stepped through.

To be continued...

revised Author's note, ETA 6/18/2008: Sorry about the quotes getting all messed up— as far as I can tell, only chapters 4 and 5 have been affected. Please let me know if you notice other strangeness. Thanks for reading. Li

Author's note:

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. To everyone who has reviewed or e-mailed me: you are wonderful people!

I really hope that you like this chapter (it took long enough, didn't it?).

(griseldajane . livejournal . com)

I love e-mail.

Thanks again everyone!

Li


	5. Lies unraveling

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?

Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Five

oOoOoOo

If Harry ever felt that his life was one giant, covert operation, he certainly felt it now. This thought occurred to him as he was wedged between Leonora and Snape, his two temporary guardians.

With his black clad arm directed back against Harry, the Potion's Master barred their way until he deemed it safe to pass into the busy square.

They were in Glasgow, the muggle city nearest to Leonora's cottage. The three had walked there after Dumbledore insisted that they forgo all magic until they had reached adequate protection. Harry couldn't even use magic to alter his appearance, as Snape had so arrogantly pointed out.

"Any wizard worth his salt would know a magical signature from a hundred paces away," Snape had said unpleasantly.

He was of a particularly foul temperament today, and Harry decided it was a direct consequence of his disagreement with Dumbledore.

The old headmaster had said a lot of things that infuriated Snape, but neither wizard saw fit to explain their intentions to Harry. So much was expected of him and yet, so little was explained. Harry resented being treated like a trained monkey, performing one trick after another to appease everyone but himself.

In a rotten mood, Harry tried to peek past Snape to see what the hold up was. He felt more like a caged tiger than ever when he wasn't moving.

Snape turned back to them, his face set. Harry couldn't place the subtle changes in his stony demeanor. Yet. If nothing else, Harry hoped to gain some insight into his Professor's unpleasant moods this summer.

"I don't recognize any of the wizards in the crowd," Snape said. "However, that does not mean we can let our guard down." He paused, looking directly at Harry. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied.

Snape eyed him in a way that made Harry wonder for the umpteenth time if he could read his thoughts. Just in case, Harry thought about putting up a barrier to shield himself, but surmised that anything he could conjure would be a rather pathetic attempt to block out an occlumens such as Snape. After the "pensieve incident", Harry really hadn't practiced occlumency, and after what happened to Sirius, he couldn't bring himself to try now that it was too late.

"Harry, dear, put your hat on," Leonora said placing a navy blue cap with the British flag emblazoned on it atop his head.

"It makes me look like a tourist!" Harry protested.

"Good," Snape replied. "Fame will not help you now. You have to hide that scar of yours— it is the most famous mark in the wizarding world."

Resenting Snape, Harry muttered, "I can think of another."

Snape's black eyes hardened, and he absently touched his left forearm.

"No, Potter," he spat, "that mark is infamous. Now follow me." He stalked off into the square, his exit not nearly as dramatic without his black, billowing cape.

As Harry followed Snape into the train station, his stomach suddenly lurched, and he was filled with dread. The notion of spending weeks in close proximity to his most hated professor was very quickly becoming reality. He didn't even know where they were going (aside from away from the Hogwarts). Snape might not even know. Dumbledore had been especially vague before he left to make his alibi at Hogwarts.

The train station was bustling with tourists and everyday commuters all caught in their own schedules.

"You two stay here," Leonora said gesturing to a bench, "while I get our tickets." Snape was obviously about to protest, but before he could comment, Leonora replied, "You'll do as you're told! Besides, how much muggle money do you have on you right now?"

Begrudgingly, Snape relented, sitting down without uttering a word. Harry sat beside him, watching Leonora go toward the ticket counter. He felt a headache coming on.

It was already awkward, the two of them, sitting next to each other with only silence between them. Completely avoiding Harry, Snape's eyes darted from person to person as each muggle passed by him.

"Normal people don't stare at others like that," Harry said. "You'll draw attention to us."

Snape didn't bother to reply, instead he broke from his watch, giving Harry a meaningful stare.

"It was just a suggestion," Harry mumbled, feeling hot under the Potion Master's gaze.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said sharply. "Since we will be spending a considerable, but unfortunate, amount of time together, I suggest that you stop questioning my judgment."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from answering back, having been acquainted with Snape long enough to know that he would make this summer as unpleasant as possible if he gave him cheek.

_If this is how the next few weeks are going to be_, Harry thought dismally, _then my summer is going to be worse than with the Dursley's._

Snape suddenly tensed, his breath catching quietly in his throat. "Damn it," he cursed.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Death eater—," was all Snape could muster.

Harry looked to where Snape was staring. There was a man leaning against an information kiosk, wearing an old trench coat, grasping the worn sleeves.

"How can you tell?" Harry whispered.

"Because," Snape hissed, "my mark is burning and so is his."

Harry studied the man, and sure enough he was clutching his left arm, poorly masking the agony on his face.

"Do you know him?" Harry turned to his Professor, noticing that he was perfectly rigid. He shook his head "no" with one curt motion.

Snape's fingers dug into the bench as he tried to divert the pain in his arm without betraying the mark.

"How long will it last?" Harry asked, wondering if the slight headache he felt had anything to do with Voldemort calling his death eaters.

"As long as the Dark Lord wishes," Snape said through gritted teeth.

The departure of the next train— their train, as it turned out— was announced over the loud speaker and a horde of people began walking to the appropriate platform.

"Quickly, Potter," Snape said, rising to his feet. "This way."

Snape took off into the drove, carefully adjusting his stride to match that of the crowd, though it was obvious that they were not moving fast enough for him. Discreetly, he maneuvered around to the back, ducking around the ticket booth. Harry followed silently, watching each person he passed carefully. Which ones were muggles and which ones were witches? Harry couldn't be sure.

Leonora, to her credit, didn't cry out when Snape grabbed her by the elbow as she exited the ticket area.

"They're here," Snape told her.

"Have they seen you?" She asked, her face creased with concern.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "Leonora, take Potter to the train—."

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted. "Splitting up is not a good idea."

"What you think is irrelevant," Snape hissed.

Angrily, Harry retorted, "They're looking for two people. Three could slip by unnoticed."

"He's right, you know," Leonora said. "Would they suspect a mother in the company of her son and grandson?" As she spoke she linked her arm with Snape's and turned towards the track. "That is what the three of us must look like to strangers."

Snape canted his head, his black hair falling in his face. He spoke softly, "But if I am recognized... A loyal Death Eater would have no misgivings about slaughtering the lot of us just to destroy me."

"Then you mustn't get recognized," she replied. "Come, Harry. I believe it was our train that was called and is boarding passengers as we speak."

Adjusting his bag and pulling his cap down low, Harry walked in front of Leonora and Snape heading for the platform. The death eater Snape detected was now nowhere in sight.

The bell was ringing, notifying the passengers of their impending departure.

"Quickly," Snape said. "It's about to leave."

They were almost to the train, Harry could see through the doorway to the compartments inside.

As they reached nearest coach, Snape helped Leonora in, holding her hand as she stepped over the large gap from the platform into the car. Harry was about to enter next when his cap blew off of his head. Rushing after it, hand outstretched, Harry nearly stumbled over another person waiting for the train.

"Oh, I'm sor—." He stopped in mid sentence, realizing he was speaking to the man in the worn trench coat— the death eater. As if on cue, the wind picked up again, blowing his unruly hair away from his forehead revealing his famous scar.

The Death Eater's eyes widened in realization— "_You_," he said.

Harry backed away, his hands fumbling with his bag as he tried to pull open the zipper to gain his wand. Oh, why didn't he have it by his side always?

As the Death Eater went for his own wand, Harry did the only thing he could think of— he kicked the man as hard as he could and bolted back toward the train.

Letting out a howl of pain, the Death Eater staggered and nearly fell off balance. He grasped his wand, took two strides and fired a hex at Harry.

Harry thought for sure that he'd never make it to the train in time, but he didn't feel the sting of a curse as he leaped into the car. He lost his balance and fell to the floor as the train suddenly chugged forward, beginning its journey.

Snape stood just in front of him, looking disdainfully down at him. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah, well I got held up," Harry retorted. But then he noticed Snape put his wand back into his bag.

Harry scrambled to the doorway and peeked out at the platform, and he saw the Death Eater sprawled on his backside with a small crowd of people forming around his prone body.

"You deflected the curse," Harry said, turning back to Snape.

"I couldn't let you have all the glory," Snape said with a wry smile.

"He recognized me, you know," Harry whispered. "When my hat blew off, he saw my scar."

"That wizard will be out cold for a while and by the time he comes around we'll be halfway to London," Snape said casually. "Now, let us find Leonora. You've caused enough of a disturbance for one day."

Hauling himself off the floor, Harry tried hard to remember that Snape had probably just saved his life again and that he should be grateful... not smoldering with irritation at the man's utter lack of compassion.

oOoOoOo

Sitting in the snack car, Harry flipped through the book Dumbledore had given him before their departure. Next to him, Leonora sipped her tea and read her magazine.

They had chosen a car near the end of the train, and were lucky enough not to have to share it with anyone else. Snape said he needed some peace and quiet, so Leonora suggested that she and Harry go get a bite to eat and a spot of tea, which suited Harry just fine.

The book, Harry found, though seemingly innocent, was enchanted. It liked to change, but it seemed to open to chapters that Harry found fascinating. The index page was blank, so if he couldn't find what he was looking for, Harry wrote the topic of interest at the top. The ink seeped into the empty sheet and reformed into a page number.

Turning the page, Harry found a section on herbs. Comfrey was listed, along with its properties. Curious, Harry skipped ahead to the end, to thornapple... His eyes widened in astonishment.

"I'll be back," Harry said quickly to Leonora as he took off down the small corridor to have a little chat with Snape.

Throwing open the door to their compartment, Harry shouted, "It's poison!"

Snape, who was lying down across two seats, didn't bother to move. (His chest hurt as if he'd been throwing up— which wasn't far from the truth if one considered the manner in which the parasite had been expelled from his body.)

"You'll have to be more specific," Snape replied.

"Thornapple!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "It's a lethal poison."

"Lower your voice, Potter," Snape said quietly. "And yes, I am fully aware of it."

At a loss, Harry stammered, "But— but _why?_"

"Potter, did you bother to read past the first sentence in that book, or are you seriously questioning my skills as Potions Master?"

Harry frowned. Snape wasn't even taking him seriously. He was still sprawled out across the seats, eyes closed.

Annoyed, Harry read aloud. "Thornapple, also referred to as Devil's Apple, is poisonous and should never be taken internally. While useful for dulling strong pain, smoking dried thornapple for prolonged periods of time can be habit forming as well as lethal. Stop use immediately if..."

But then realization dawned on him. "You're not well," Harry said suddenly. "You _lied_ to us— to Dumbledore—."

"What makes you think that I lied to you?" Snape said softly, his voice a dangerous low. "It was you who jumped to that conclusion."

"But Dumbledore said— he _let_ you travel. You were supposed to be ready. I didn't think he'd allow you to if you were still—." Harry sighed clearly exasperated. The breadth of his naive was clearly wide. "Well, how sick are you?"

"My state of well being changes nothing," Snape replied, looking at Harry for the first time during their conversation. "Your knowledge of my health is on a need to know basis." He straightened up, slowly swinging his legs to the floor. His coal black eyes bore a serious message. "You will not tell Leonora about any of this. She jumped to the same conclusion as you did."

Opening his mouth to tell Snape that he'd speak to whomever he wished about whatever he wanted, Harry was promptly cut off before he had the opportunity to utter a single syllable.

"What good would it do?" Snape growled. "For some reason unknown to most who encounter me, Leonora cares about what happens to me, and I'll not have you upsetting her just to throw spite in my face."

"I wouldn't do that," Harry said quickly. _Though I might like to_, he thought.

At that moment, the door to their compartment slid open and Leonora popped her head in. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Snape said evenly. "Potter and I were just discussing some overlooked details about our trip, but it seems that we've reached an understanding."

"Oh good! You two are finally getting along," Leonora said, entering the cabin and sitting down.

Harry said nothing, but couldn't quite hide a demur snort.

To be continued...

oOoOoOo

revised Author's note, ETA 6/18/2008: Sorry about the quotes getting all messed up— as far as I can tell, only chapters 4 and 5 have been affected. Please let me know if you notice other strangeness. Thanks for reading. Li

Author's note:

Okay this upload number two-- is doing some crazy things... like taking out spaces and asterixs and just making my document different.

I digress.

To all my readers: Thank you for your infinite patience. I actually have a good start on the next chapter so maybe it will go faster?

I really hope that you like this chapter (it took long enough, didn't it?). I had a spot of trouble with one of the parts... (but I 'aint tellin' which!) Anyway, here ya go.

(griseldajane . livejournal . com)

Thanks again everyone!

Li


	6. Bodies in Motion

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.   
  
Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?  
  
Spoiler: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…  
  
Circumstance  
  
By Libellule  
  
Chapter Six

...........................

Unbearably suffocating, the train barreled down the track towards London, reeking of stale confinement to an unacceptable degree.  Harry sat on the hackneyed seat, trying to make the most of his incarceration.  Stealing a glance at his warden, Harry scowled into his book.  Snape proved to be irritating even when he was doing nothing—(_especially_ when he was doing nothing) curled innocently in his seat as if he was sleeping.

Harry sighed, turning another page without reading it.  He didn't get it—didn't get _him._

Snape hated him for all he was worth, that much he could garner from his first year potions class.  That suited Harry fine—he loathed Snape with equal ferocity.

Like a paper cut, small and annoying, something was irritating Harry.  It was nearly imperceptible but a constantly trying presence nonetheless.

Things were not adding up.   

Harry brought his book closer to his face, peering intently over the hardcover backing at the greasy git.  Harry watched his breathing; the slow rise and fall of his chest hitched every few moments betraying his pain.

Guilt shivered through him, leaving a deep cold weight in the pit of his stomach.  Snape had nearly died—_no­_—he was dying.  Harry thought of that horrible creature that had shredded Snape's lungs to liquid— and now the thornapple, a poison to dull the pain of a slow death.

How long would it last?  Could Snape even heal from this injury or was it one more punishment he had to endure before his final rest?  Dumbledore had misled Harry once again, though some of the blame had to fall on Harry himself.  He had bore witness to the gruesome near death of one Severus Snape yet fully chose to believe that he'd recovered in little more than a week. 

Harry had always thought that nothing short of direct orders from Dumbledore could make Snape lift even a finger to help him.  But what had motivated Snape to save him from Voldemort and his Death Eaters when such a deadly price for his actions was unmistakable?

_Snape._

His warden, his keeper—more like his cellmate, bound to him by evils of a misguided past. 

A piercing, metal against metal screech cut through Harry's brooding like a thousand nails clawing against a chalk board.  The train jerked to a halt, throwing everyone from their seats, luggage raining down from the over head racks. 

The electricity flickered off as the sounds of mass panic overtook the train. 

Snape pushed himself up to his knees and slid across the floor towards Leonora. 

"Are you all right?" he asked her, helping the older woman to sit upright. 

"Yes—yes I'm fine," she said, "Okay there, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said rubbing his head where it impacted with the floor. 

Years of tightly controlled masquerade made Snape's face a blank mask as he rose. The dim light of the moon spilling in from the window bathed him in soft light.

"Stay here," Snape commanded moving to the door, his gruff voice steeling Harry to his spot.  Once he exited the compartment, the blackness of the hallway swallowed Snape whole.

"I don't like this," Harry said suddenly. 

"I'm sure we'll be moving along in a moment, dear," Leonora replied, trying her best to remain optimistic.  But they both knew something was wrong. 

Harry frowned.  "Why haven't the emergency lights come on?"

"I don't know," she replied quietly. 

Harry went to the door peering into the blackness.  His eyes were not adjusted to the total lack of light yet.  Down a ways, he could see the torch lights of train attendants coming around to each compartment asking if everyone was okay.   

"Something's blocking the tracks," someone said from another section. 

Harry was about to ask the people in the next car if they could tell what it was, but he stopped himself just shy of knocking on their door. 

His skin was tingling, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

The man in the uniform was not holding a flash light.  He was not as far off as Harry had originally thought… it was a wand he was holding, emanating light from its tip as he searched each cabin. 

The light coming from it might fool muggles, but not Harry— not someone who knew what a wand looked like. 

"Magic," Harry whispered.  "I can feel it from here."

"Yes," hissed a voice in his ear.  For a sheer instant Harry thought the worst, his heart ceasing to beat as he imagined Voldemort at his back. 

"Obviously even the simplest instruction is beyond your grasp." 

His breath let out in a relieved sigh.  Only Snape would insult him like that, he thought with a grin.   

"You think this is funny, Potter?"  Snape growled, pushing Harry back into the compartment.  "I told you to stay put.  What if he'd seen you?"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

"Next time you'll do exactly as I say!" Snape said furiously.   

"Severus, what's going on?"  Leonora asked, deterring his anger.

"There's a felled tree across the tracks and it hardly looks to be an accident," Snape replied.  "There are wizards on the train and we have no choice but to assume they're looking for us.  We have to leave the train."

"Maybe you could hide?" Leonora suggested. 

"No.  They'll be checking this car in a few minutes and we'll be trapped if we stay."  Snape crossed the room, turning his back to them as he gathered his bag.  "Potter, get your things," he said quietly.  "We must leave now."

Leonora also moved to get her things, but Snape reached across and took her hands into his own. 

"No, Nora, you can't come with us," he whispered.

She looked cross—annoyed almost— as if she expected he would say that.  But in the end she relented, knowing that she would hinder their escape.   

"I need you to say on the train," Snape continued.  "Get word to Dumbledore when you can.  Any message we send will likely be intercepted and traced back to us.  Tell Dumbledore we're continuing on foot.  We'll meet up with you in London."

Defeated, she pulled Snape into a fierce hug.  "You'd better meet me in London—if you stand me up, I'll never forgive you."

She kissed his cheek then turned towards Harry.

"Give an old lady a hug," she said, pulling Harry into her arms.  "I'm so glad we met.  Good luck, Harry."

"Thanks, Leonora," Harry said.  He was sad to leave her, but kept his hopes high, knowing he would see her again soon.  "Watch out for yourself, too," he added.

Wordlessly, Harry followed Snape from the compartment into the blackness that awaited them. 

........................................

They were quiet, no noise save for their footfalls over the forest floor, not a word spoken since leaving the train.  Harry and Snape had been walking for what Harry thought must have been hours.    

The outside air was a tangible thing, moist and thick, taking on a life of its own, parting around them as they walked through it. 

"I think we're an acceptable distance away from the train," Snape said suddenly.  "Let us rest for a while." 

Harry agreed readily.  Exhausted and cold, he just wanted to be somewhere dry.

Snape leaned against a tree, resting his head back against the trunk.

"Where are we going now?"  Harry asked quietly. 

"Our destination has not changed," Snape replied wryly. 

"We're still going to--."

"Do not say it!" Snape insisted.  "Surely even you must realize that trees have eyes and ears," Snape sneered.

"But this isn't a magical forest," Harry said.  "Why should we fear it?"

"Because Mr. Potter, you never know when a tree will choose to listen or speak or knock you on your backside." 

Harry lay back on the grass, looking up into the starless night.  _Snape sure is paranoid_, Harry thought.  _Not without good reason_, he conceded. 

Worn out, Harry allowed his body to settle against the ground while his thoughts considered what tomorrow would bring.

He could have sworn that his eyes only closed for a minute.  The next thing Harry knew, the sun was up, out the birds were awake—it was morning.  Blinking in the daylight, Harry pushed himself up.

Snape sat a few yards away, smoking one of his poison joints. 

"What time is it?" Harry asked, rubbing a kink from the back of his neck. 

"Do I look like a clock?" snapped a very irritable Snape.  But then he said, while stamping out his cigarette, "It's a little after eight." 

Snape stood, extending his arms in front of him, stretching from a night spent outdoors.  "We have to move.  We really can't afford to stay in one place any longer."

Harry nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  After all this, he wasn't going to get caught now.  As unreasonable as Snape was, Harry was surprised that Snape had let him sleep nearly the entire night.  He surmised that his Professor probably needed to rest too, though would never admit to it.

"There's a residential area not far from here," Snape began, "but we're going to follow the tracks until we get to the nearest town." 

It sounded reasonable enough to Harry.  It was vital that they keep their anonymity.  The fewer people that saw them, the less they would be recognized. 

Following the tracks well past midday, Harry grew impatient.  They appeared to go on forever, an endless path of iron rail stretching into eternity.  Eventually the tracks climbed up on the landscape until they rose high overhead forming a bridge over a large lake.

Dismayed, Harry asked, "How will we cross _that?_"  He knew better than to walk on the tracks.  If a train should come while they were in the middle— Harry didn't want to think of the outcome.  "I suppose we could try going around?" he said, even though the idea of backtracking was likely to bring tears to his tired eyes. 

"Nonsense," Snape said.  "We're going straight ahead." 

"But we don't know how deep the water is," Harry protested. 

"Honestly, Potter," Snape said with disgust.  "You've studied magic for five years now and _swimming across_ is the best you can do?"

"But I thought…" Harry started.  "We aren't supposed to use magic," he finished bluntly. 

"Surely _you_, Mr. Potter, are not averse to breaking the rules?"

"Not at all," Harry grinned.  "What do you suggest?"

Snape stared at the large body of water, thinking.

Going over of all the various spells he had learned during his five years at Hogwarts, Harry tried to think of one that would get them both across the lake... _safely_.  Technically, Harry wasn't allowed to perform magic outside of Hogwarts.  However, considering the situation, he wasn't concerned about a citation.  (Besides, he had a certified Hogwarts Professor to supervise him.)

Apparation was out of the question, too.  After learning of Snape's lack of health, Harry knew that such an act would be far too taxing on his magical abilities. 

"If I had my broom we could fly across," Harry thought aloud. 

"Well, you don't," Snape said.  He crouched at the water's edge retrieving his wand.

Harry stood behind him.  "Are you sure you're ready to use magic again?"

"We shall see," Snape replied, dipping his wand into the water.

He whispered a spell at the lake's edge that Harry couldn't quite understand.  Watching with keen interest, Harry noticed white shards shoot out from Snape's wand, crystallizing across the water's surface to the other side. 

_He's turning the water to ice,_ Harry thought.

The temperature around them got colder as the ice expanded becoming thicker and wider.  Snape stopped the enchantment when he had created a path just wide enough for them to walk along single file. 

"Brilliant," Harry remarked.  The spell was not something that Snape would have to sustain, as the ice would retain its natural physical properties for a while.  Harry seriously doubled that Snape could maintain it even if he wanted to. 

"Why thank you, Potter," Snape said tersely, but his sharpness couldn't quite hide the wheeze in his voice.  The spell had taken some obvious effort on his part, though Snape would never admit that such a simple spell had rendered him breathless. 

Moving past him, Harry decided to try out Snape's solution.  Harry took not more than two steps on the ice, promptly lost his footing, arms flailing wildly, and fell thickly on his backside.

Snape snorted at his folly.  "It's a bit slick there, Potter," he smirked as he scooped up a handful of sand.  "Try this," he said, pouring it into Harry's hands.

Taking out his wand, Harry tossed the sand into the air then shouted, "_Fundo__!_"  The sand quickly scattered along the ice path adding traction to the smooth surface. 

"That will do, Potter.  Now _move_.  The ice won't last," Snape said, stepping behind him onto the ice.

What seemed brilliant on land seemed insane halfway across the lake.  With each step Harry took he heard a whining sound, not unlike ice cubes melting in a glass of lemonade. 

"We can't afford to stop," Snape whispered as Harry faltered a step. 

Suddenly, the ice cracked.  Harry froze in his place.  One wrong step would fracture the entire path.  It continued to groan and pop as water slowly started to wash over the top. 

"Don't move," Snape said quietly.  Harry needn't be told twice.

"Can you get us across?"  Harry whispered. 

"No, or I would have done that to begin with."  He paused as the ice hissed.  "Do exactly as I say--"

Snape didn't get the opportunity to finish his command before the ice underneath their feet broke apart in the water.    

_To Be Continued…_

Author's note:   
  
First off: Everyone have a fantastic "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" movie experience!  grins I can't wait.  It's just good fun to see 'em all up there on the big screen!  (especially Snape… I know, I know, not everyone likes Alan Rickman as Snape like I do.)

To all my readers: You rock.  Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and providing worthwhile feedback.  Please continue to do so :)

As always I can be reached through e-mail at:

Libelluleyahoo.com 

And visit my web journal at:

http: Libelluledate.bravejournal.com  
  
(Libelluledate [dot] bravejournal [dot] com)

Thanks again everyone!  
  
Li

[PS Now that I'm out of school I could conceivable do some storyboards/illustrations of this HP story— if anyone wants to see that e-mail me privately.  Thanks much.]


	7. What lurks within the shadows of one's s

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.   
  
Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together… will they survive?  
  
Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

**Warning:****This chapter**** contains adult themes**, which may or may not include or imply child abuse.  It is rated R and has been ever since chapter two, in fact to even read this story you have to manually change the settings to include R rated stories.  If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.  (Have I scared you?  I'll just say this: I think when J.K. Rowling wrote about wormtail chopping off his own hand (-shudders-), it was more upsetting than this chapter is, to me at least.)

Circumstance  
  
By Libellule  
  
Chapter Seven

_Suddenly, the ice cracked.  Harry froze in his place.  One wrong step would fracture the entire path.  It continued to groan and pop as water slowly started to wash over the top.  _

_"Don't move," Snape said quietly.  Harry needn't be told twice._

_"Can you get us across?"  Harry whispered.  _

_"No, or I would have done that to begin with."  He paused as the ice hissed.  "Do exactly as I say--"_

_Snape__ didn't get the opportunity to finish his command before the ice underneath their feet broke apart in the water._

Equilibrium was lost as the ground plane buckled beneath them.  Frigid water rushed up to swallow Harry as his body reeled backward. 

"_Placidus__!_" Snape shouted.

Instead of falling through the broken shards into the murky lake, Harry slammed back onto a solid sheet of ice. 

The ice had immediately reformed at Snape's command, but remained intact only through his constant exertion.  Harry looked up at Snape, concerned by his haggard concentration.   

"Well, don't just sit there," Snape ground out brusquely, "move!"

Scampering to his feet, Harry hurried down the ice path, Snape trailing behind him.  They were almost to the other side, but still not close enough, when Snape staggered, and dropped to his knees.

"I can't control it anymore," he hissed, the ice cracking as he spoke.  There was no mistaking the rasp in his voice, his breathing encumbered by magic too strong for his damaged respiratory system.

Harry dropped back behind Snape, making sure they were on the same piece of ice.  Wand in hand, he said "I have an idea.  Let it go!" 

Snape couldn't have protested if he wanted to; he couldn't spare his focus.  Losing control, the ice bridge broke apart, shrieking and groaning loudly as its pieces struck the water. 

Pointing his wand at the chunk of ice they were positioned on, Harry exclaimed, "_Prorsus_!", propelling the ice forward. 

A bit too zealous, Harry accelerated the ice ahead, like a surfboard in Hawaiian waters.  It skidded onto the opposite shore, sending them both soaring into the sand.

They stayed where they had unceremoniously landed until it was quiet, the whining of the ice and sloshing of the water having subsided.

"Oh excellent, Potter," Snape said finally after a few moments of laying in silence.  "Just what I needed—sand in my hair," he said, a subtle twang of humor flavoring his voice.

"You think that's bad?" Harry asked, sitting up.  "I've got sand up my nose!" he declared with an impish grin.

Despite the big show of annoyance, Harry knew Snape couldn't be too angry because they were, for the most part, dry and had crossed the lake in one piece.

"I've had it with this nonsense," Snape muttered.  "I think I'll take my chances in the wizarding world with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters… for a little while, at least."  At Harry's appearance of uncertainty, he added, "Don't look at me that way, Potter—this muggle business is for the harpies and you know it."

Snape stood, brushing the sand from his clothes.  With a wave of his wand, he donned his familiar black robes.  Relief was evident in his manner as he turned and addressed Harry. 

"Furthermore, it is not in our favor to be ignorant of wizarding news," he continued.  "Aren't you curious to see if you've made headlines this week, Potter?"   

It was a familiar jab, Harry knew, but decided its implication was not spiteful and so replied, "Well, naturally."   

…………………………………………………………..

Harry had come to realize that Snape knew a great deal about many things outside the realm of potions, so it was hardly surprising when he led them to a wizarding village within twenty minutes of their crossing the lake. 

"Do not under any circumstances call me by my name while we are here," Snape ordered as they set foot on magical soil.  "And I will do the same for you."

His dictums, however, were completely agitating and ready to send Harry into a frenzied state if he didn't stop soon. 

"Avoid eye contact as people might recognize your scar."

As they walked Snape continued to rattle off a laundry list of rules that were to be followed at all times.  "Do not run or shout.  It will only attract further attention."

"All right—" Harry began irritably.

"And Merlin help you if you stumble into trouble," Snape growled, silencing the angry protest with a look.  "Try, just this once if you can, to behave yourself while I find out what we need to know."

Biting his tongue, Harry paused, letting Snape walk past him.  He resented being spoken to in this manner.  He was not an imbecile and fully capable of discretion.  Despite what Snape thought, he didn't go looking for trouble.  It usually found him.

Scowling, Harry followed Snape through the town.  A variety of shops full of enchantments, a sleepy owlry that looked as if it had been there since Merlin's days, a washed out tavern with a wooden sign that hung by one rusty hinge, and a run down inn comprised the town square.  Off to the side there was a small vault that most likely held all of the town money with a guard that looked like he could have roomed at Hogwarts with Nicholas Flamel and some suburban neighborhoods that appeared as if they didn't belong to the modern age. 

To Harry's surprise, Snape led him into the tavern and chose a table by the window where warm afternoon light spilled happily across the old wood. 

"Sit down," Snape said gesturing to a seat.  "You must be hungry.  Order anything you like, with in reason of course." 

"You aren't staying,"  Harry observed, looking up at Snape while he took a seat.  It was obvious that the man was tired from their morning escapade, but his refusal to acknowledge it was foolish.

"I must take care of a few things," Snape began.  "I'll be back within the hour.  Do not leave this tavern."

Harry frowned, "Where are you going?" 

"To places where a fifteen year old boy will not be welcome," Snape hissed.

"I'll be sixteen soon," Harry muttered. 

"What was that?" Snape asked, straightening to his full height. 

"In this town?" Harry covered quickly.  "This place seems harmless—a sleepy, old, small town." 

"Looks can be deceiving.  You of all people should know that," he said.  "Besides if you want us to pay for this lunch and a night's lodgings, you'd better hope there are some unsavory parts to this town." 

Snape turned to go.  "Don't worry.  If I were going to leave you, you'd never see it coming."  And with that, he left. 

"I'm not worried about _that_," Harry said under his breath, even thought that wasn't entirely true.  He watched through the window as Snape paused momentarily to light up a cigarette before crossing the square and venturing out of Harry's sight.      

……………………………………………………………………

An aging waitress with frizzy red hair and too much make up came to take Harry's order.  She perked up slightly at the sight of a new face, but fell back into lethargy when she realized her tip percentage would be small from Harry's order. 

"Soup of the day and a water," Harry said.  Even though he was famished, the meager sum of money he had would not be enough to quell his hunger.  And Snape, admittedly, had not a sickle.    

As Harry waited, he noticed an abandoned copy of the Daily Prophet on the next table.  He picked it up, leafing through the pages.  The paper was from two days ago, but old news was better than no news at all.

Headlines about increases in petty misdemeanors and magical violations angered Harry.  The ministry of magic was still trying to cover up how dire Voldemort was making things.  None the less, he continued with the paper, catching up on current events and quidditch scores. 

Harry was halfway through his chicken rice soup (which contained neither chicken nor rice) when he came across a small article buried in the back. 

_Hogwarts Professor in St. Mungo's_ read the title.  Harry continued reading with great interest. 

_A noted Professor from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardy has been admitted to Saint Mungo's hospital following an accident near school grounds.  The Professor's identity and details of the injury have not been released at this time._

That was it, hardly worth reporting.  Harry read it over several times and when Snape returned a good hour and half late, he pointed it out to him. 

"Isn't that peculiar?"  Harry asked.

"Dumbledore wastes no time," Snape replied sitting down opposite him.  At Harry's questioning look Snape continued with a lowered voice.  "The professor in question is me.  That's misdirection for you."

"So any wizards looking for you might read that and think you're far worse off than you are," Harry said, thinking aloud.  "And that you're in St. Mungo's."

"My, you catch on fast," Snape replied dryly.  He took the paper from Harry's grasp, turning it to the front.  "Why don't you order something else?  We have time."  

Flipping over a menu, Harry perused the limited choices.  The nut butter and wild berry sandwich didn't sound half bad.  "You got some money then?"  Harry asked.

Without looking up from the paper, Snape dropped a pouch of galleons and sickles onto the table. 

"Where did you get that?"  Harry asked staring at the hefty amount.  "You robbed that vault didn't you?" 

"Rook," Snape said simply as if that explained everything. 

"You've to be _kidding_ me," Harry said.

"No word of a lie," Snape replied.  "I'm unusually lucky at cards," he began, "and even when I'm not, slight of hand can go a long way."

Wizarding cards were enchanted to guard against magical cheating, though sometimes the Kings and Queens on the faces would get into fights or duels and cause a "noisy" hand.  It was incredibly hard to cheat at cards when competing against a group of practiced card playing wizards (who were usually a suspicious bunch by trade), but sometimes muggle methods proved efficient in a pinch, even to wizards with the purest blood.    

Harry had never played Rook, but Ron had explained in the dormitory that it used to be a very popular game until muggles adapted it as a non standard card game and it fell out of wizarding favor (yet another fun muggle fact Mr. Weasley imparted on his children).  It was still played, however, in some older families whose bloodlines predated the muggle acquisition of the game. 

The redheaded waitress came over at the sound of galleons hitting the table asking if she could get them anything else.  Snape ordered a grilled sandwich and a pot of tea. 

"And anything the boy here wants," he said gesturing to Harry.  Deciding to go for broke (why not, Snape was paying), he ordered another bowl of soup and the house special which actually turned out to be edible. 

Snape's eyes followed the waitress as she stopped to chat with the barkeep, who stared back at them dismally, twisting a withered rag into a glass. 

"Did that woman pay extra attention to you?"  Snape asked.

"Not particularly," Harry said.  "She may have if I had more money." 

Snape didn't say anything more on the subject, but Harry knew he was suspicious, if not outright worried. 

"Did you find out anything?"  Harry asked.  He sipped his hot tea, peering over the lip of the cup at Snape. 

Snape sighed, rubbing his fingertips across his brow, forbearance in his coal black eyes wearing thin.  "Not anything of specific importance," he replied.

"Well?" Harry demanded.  "What did you find out?"

"My, we are full of questions today," Snape said derisively. 

Anger rose in Harry's throat.  "Oh, come off it!" he shouted.  "Why do you have to be so difficult!  This concerns me too." 

"I suggest you lower your voice," Snape replied softly. 

"If you think I'm just going to follow you around without knowing what I'm getting into like some kind of—of—."

"Trained _dog_," Snape finished coldly.

Harry sat back in his chair, rage flushing his face red.  The connotation was not lost on Harry, no matter how thick Snape thought him to be. 

_A dog like Sirius,_ Harry thought furiously.

"You bastard," Harry said evenly.  "You black hearted scum."  He pushed back his chair and rose from the table, making his way toward the door. 

Passing the redhead and the barkeep, who stopped whispering as he went by, Harry ignored their attentive, prying stares, walking into the cooling night air.  Harry felt the heat in his cheeks, and his eyes began to sting as a soft wind caressed him. 

Harry had never allowed himself to mourn, filling the hole in his heart with self deprecating anger and righteous guilt, and therefore had never gotten over Sirius' death.  A part of him didn't want to get over it because that would mean accepting that Sirius was never coming back. 

The injustice of his life's many tragedies consumed his being with an inky fury.  He blamed himself for his rashness and naiveté, and his helplessness and discrimination he blamed on Snape.  His godfather's death made him feel a vulnerability so cold and lonely that he allowed himself to retain his anger, if only to keep himself from freezing to death from the inside out. 

Repressing his grief made Harry very hypersensitive to anything that reminded him of Sirius: the words dog or black spoken aloud or seeing a dog, even if it wasn't black, and Snape saying these things only magnified his sensitivity.

Rationally, he knew that he had to go back to Snape.  He could only pretend for so long that he could survive in this world on his own without really knowing exactly how much danger he was in. 

But his anger and pride kept his rationale at bay.  So, he ran, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Snape, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his pain.

Harry found that he couldn't outrun his anguish.  He stopped, finally, breathing hard.  Leaning against the cold bricks of an old factory, Harry tried to identify where he was.  The windows were dark, the building having been abandoned for the night.  The town was quiet and still in the dusk, betraying none of its secrets.

"Oh, brilliant, Harry," he muttered to himself.  "Getting lost in a place like this, stroke of genius." 

Traveling down the road, Harry watched for someone who might help him.  He got the distinct feeling that he was being scrutinized from inside the dim casements of the buildings he passed. 

Suddenly, he caught a drift of laughter and music on the wind and wandered toward it.  He meandered down dark streets where the buildings loomed eerily, with soft yellow light spilling out from behind leaky shutters.  Harry realized that he probably was in the "unsavory" part of town that Snape had mentioned earlier.

A seedy bar was the source of the music and laughter he had heard.  It was attached to a sleazy, rundown tavern that seemed to throttle with decay.  The stench of rot was strong and appalling to Harry's senses.  He felt eyes on him and he felt dirty.  

A sickening feeling rose in his stomach and Harry's instincts were screaming for him to watch out, retrace his steps, and get the hell out. 

"What's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?" asked a gritty voice from the darkness. 

His stomach twisted with terror as a stout man soiled with grime stepped into his way.  His eyes were black, but not the same way that Snape's were.  They were sullied with vice, and a malice so unclean that his sadistic intent could not be mistaken. 

Harry backed away from him, slowly reaching for his wand.  "Leave me alone," he said, proud that his voice did not shake and betray the utter panic he felt. 

"Don't fret, poppet," the man said, reaching out a filthy hand toward Harry.  "I won't hurt you." 

His unnerving smile indicated otherwise. 

"Is there a problem?" demanded a velvety soft voice from within the shadows. 

Snape emerged from the darkness, standing close behind Harry, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders. 

Even though Harry wanted to shrug from Snape's touch, he couldn't help but watch with satisfaction as the color drained from the corpulent man's face.  Only Snape could muster a look so fierce as to shake a full grown man.

"No," the man said, taking a defensive step back.  "No problem." 

"Just so we're clear," Snape said, his voice low and dangerous, "this boy is with me."

The man nodded vigorously, stumbling over himself to get away.

As soon as the man had gone, Harry wriggled out of Snape's hold.  "Don't touch me," he whispered. 

Snape said nothing, but seemed to be assessing Harry with his black stare.  He turned away, his robe swirling behind him as he walked toward the decaying tavern.

Harry didn't ask how Snape had found him, and he didn't offer to tell. 

"Come on," he said quietly, throwing a glare over his shoulder. 

"I'm not going in there," Harry said defiantly.  "I'll likely catch a disease." 

"You'd rather stay out here then?" Snape retorted.  "You feel safer out here?"

Harry glowered at Snape with all the hatred he could muster, but had to concede to follow him.

As they ascended the rickety steps to the bar, Harry noticed a pair of large brown eyes gaping at him.  They belonged to a large, dark haired dog lying lazily at the door, and if Harry hadn't been so sorrowful over Sirius, he may have acknowledged it for a grim.

The innards of the bar were as repulsive as its exterior, filled with witches and wizards and creatures from all walks of life.  The scent of smoke, mixed with vile moldering wood and the yeasty aroma of alcohol pervaded Harry's nostrils.  The pub was obnoxiously loud from the drunken cackle of vivacious women and rowdy men. 

People turned to stare at them as the walked in, and Harry realized that he was inapt in such a place, a detriment to Snape who could easily blend in with a crowd of lowlifes.

"Can I trust you to look after yourself for a few minutes?"  Snape whispered, bending close to Harry's ear to keep his words from being overheard.  "There are things I must attend to."  

Harry nodded, turning to find himself a stronghold in this dive.  He did not look over his shoulder to see if Snape was watching, he merely found himself a table off to the side. 

There was a man passed out across the slab, snoring softly, a half finished ale in hand, empty bottles strewn about, drool pooling down his chin.  Harry figured no one would bother him with this guy there, and he slouched down in his chair with his back to the wall.

Scanning the smoky room he did not notice Snape, but decided not to worry about it.  Harry placed several of the empty bottles in front of him, and buried his nose in the book Dumbledore had given him, hoping to blend into the woodwork. 

Every so often Harry looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Snape, after all, the sooner he finished his business the sooner they could leave.  Harry planned to vacate this place the second that moment arrived. 

Finally, Harry spotted him at the bar, talking to a plump brunette.  She laughed demurely at whatever he'd said, batting her eyelashes at him. 

Harry wouldn't have believed it if not for seeing it with his own eyes—even so he took off his glasses and cleaned them on the edge of his shirt. 

Snape was flirting with her, an elegant smile softening his harsh features.  The woman laughed again, nodding her head in agreement, fiddling coyly with her necklace.  Snape chuckled, pouring the woman another glass of wine.

Suddenly, a man came up beside her, putting his arms possessively around the woman—obviously her boyfriend.  She introduced him to Snape, oblivious to any tension between them. The man stared coldly at Snape, who gave a charming smile that would have made Lucius Malfoy proud. 

Just then, a pack of disruptive wizards being thrown out of the tavern blocked Harry's view as they were escorted to the door.  Harry twisted in his seat to see around them, but was forced to wait several minutes until they'd cleared out.

When he returned to his watch, he was surprised yet again.  He figured the boyfriend would turn Snape on his ear, discouraging any further advance, but to Harry's amazement the other man was sitting on the barstool next to Snape engaged in conversation, the woman leaning clumsily against her beau as she finished the wine in her glass. 

Snape leaned with his elbow against the bar, his head resting in his hand as he listened to what the man was saying.  He smiled pleasantly during their exchange, absently tracing circles of water on the bar with his slender fingers.  The man swiftly placed his hand over Snape's, stilling the gentle movement.  They shared a glance, and the man nodded.  Together they rose, helping the quite inebriated brunette to her feet as they made their way to a table in the back. 

Harry strained his neck to see, not wanting to lose Snape in the crowd.  Abandoning his table, Harry moved to the bar, trying to peer nonchalantly at the back tables. 

Snape's demeanor had changed, no longer charming and enticing, but serious and stern.  He was speaking very frankly, Harry could tell from the way he sat straight in his seat and didn't break eye contact.  His wine went untouched, but the man drank his down without question and his gestures became thick and clumsy as he told Snape all he wanted to know. 

_How sly_, Harry thought.  He knew in that instant that Snape's target was never the woman, but her man, and the information he could give him. 

He'd never seen Snape actively "spying" before, and wondered who'd taught it to him, Dumbledore or Voldemort. 

A burly armed bar tender came over to him, and folded his arms across his chest.  "Aren't you a little young to be at the bar?"  He asked, eying Harry skeptically. 

"I'm older than I look," Harry protested.

"That's what they all say.  Now out with you," he said, nodding to the door.  "I don't want any citations this month.  Come back when you're legal." 

Harry didn't argue with the man.  That's all he needed, to get physically forced from the tavern and recognized from the scar on his forehead that he was Harry Potter, the boy who lived. 

Snape would have kittens.  Harry smirked at the thought as he stepped outside into the cool night air.  Treading down the uneven steps,  Harry noticed the brown eyed dog lift his head from his sleeping post at the door, but did not bark or regard Harry with much interest at all. 

Hoisting himself up onto an overturned water barrel, Harry positioned himself by the door.  He could see anyone who went in or out of the bar, figuring he'd just wait there until Snape came out.  He hoped it was soon, the stench from the place was unbearable.    

_I could just leave_, he thought.  _Try to find my way to London… contact the Weasley's._  Harry knew he wouldn't, though.  His presence at the Weasley home could put them all in jeopardy, and that was something he would not risk.  There was too much about his situation that Dumbledore had not revealed to him.  Harry wondered what life altering surprise would come next. 

"Hello there, poppet." 

Before Harry could jump away, an arm snaked around his waist and a hand clamped down tightly over his mouth.  It was the stocky man who'd approached him before, having not forgotten the sweet look of Harry's youth.  He dragged Harry back over the top of the barrel, hauling him into the alley next to the tavern.   

"Where's your friend, love?" He asked, bringing his tainted lips to Harry's ear.  "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out here all by your lonesome." 

Harry kicked and squirmed, but the man held him fast with his vice like grip.

_To be continued…_

…………………………………………………………………

Author's note:

I hope you all read the warning at the top which was clearly marked in **bold** faced typography.  I won't tolerate anyone who makes comments without bothering to read it first.   

Thank you for being patient, oh readers of mine.  This chapter, well, it was long for me!  The longest HP chapter yet.  Did you like it?

I know, I know I'm "evil" for stopping right where I did.  Again.  But you know… I couldn't resist, must have read too many Christopher Pike books in junior high. 

As always, feedback is appreciated.  If anyone would like to discuss, e-mail me please or visit my web journal!

Since ff.net removes a lot of characters, I have to spell it out for you all.

Li [underscore] bell [underscore] ule [at] yahoo [dot] com

and

Libelluledate [dot] bravejournal [dot] com

They're both in my ff.net profile, see above. 

Thanks everyone!

--Li


	8. Unbridled emotion frees the monster with

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling.  This story is just for kicks and giggles.    
  
Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened.  The beginnings of a journey together…   
  
Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…  
  
**Warning: This chapter contains adult themes**, which may or may not include or imply child abuse.  It is rated R and has been ever since chapter two, in fact to even read this story you have to manually change the settings to include R rated stories.  If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.    
  
Circumstance  
  
By Libellule  
  
Chapter Eight   
  
_  
  
"Hello there, poppet."    
  
Before Harry could jump away, an arm snaked around his waist and a hand clamped down tightly over his mouth.  It was the stocky man who'd approached him before, having not forgotten the sweet look of Harry's youth.  He dragged Harry back over the top of the barrel, hauling him into the alley next to the tavern.    
  
"Where's your friend, love?" He asked, bringing his tainted lips to Harry's ear.  "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out here all by your lonesome."   
  
Harry kicked and squirmed, but the man held him fast with his vice like grip.  
  
_   
  
Feeling distinctly nauseous, Harry decided he would rather be kissed by a Dementor than let this man molest him.   
  
Throwing all of this weight against the man, Harry pushed him off balance.  They fell backward, hitting the unyielding ground.  Wasting no time Harry kicked his leg back hard into the man's groin—a universal vulnerable spot. The man immediately let him go, his hands rushing to protect himself.    
  
Harry scrambled to his feet, stumbling over himself to put distance between himself and his attacker.  The man was already getting up.  Wand raised, Harry whirled around to face him.   
  
"_Impedimenta_!" Harry cried, firing the impediment jinx at him.  While the man was hit squarely with the hex, it was not before he had the chance to hurl a vial filled with pink liquid at Harry.   
  
Harry cast a repelling spell at it, which is exactly what the man had anticipated.  Upon impact with the spell, the vial shattered, causing an dense vapor to rise in the air.     
  
The fumes rose, swelling up in pink billows, engulfing Harry who couldn't avoid inhaling the haze.  His muscles stiffened, constricting his motion until he could no longer stand, and he found himself lying on the ground immobile.  None of his limbs answered to his urgent need to move, not even his own voice would respond.   
  
Frantically Harry struggled against the effects of the mixture, useless though his effort was.  It was only a matter of time before the impediment jinx wore off and the man would be upon him able to do with him whatever he wished.   
  
"Easy, Poppet," the man exhaled, crouching down beside Harry.  "Don't hurt yourself, love, you can't fight it."   
  
The man breathed heavily with yearning, taking a moment to relish Harry's young, supple form with his vagrant eyes.  Stroking Harry's cheek, he rubbed the grime from his fingers into Harry's pale face.  
  
Harry couldn't shut his eyes, the fumes from the potion he'd inhaled wouldn't even allow him that much.  Eyes watering, needing to blink, Harry sunk deep within himself, letting his unflinching green eyes glaze over.   
  
His pounding heart roared in his ears as his mind raced faster than Harry could comprehend.  White hot emotion rose up within him, blindsiding his fear, catching him completely unawares as his vision ebbed not unto darkness but brilliant, scintillating luminosity.  
  
Of a sudden, Harry came back to reality. The man was no longer touching him, was not even near him, his presence replaced instead with familiarity.   
  
Snape stood over Harry, wand raised at his defacer.      
  
Harry could not see what Snape did as he moved from his line of site, but he would never forget the sound of his voice as he snarled, "You'll rue the day you ever thought about hurting his boy."  
  
And the man screamed such a bloodcurdling cry that Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.   
  
Thereupon it became quiet.  Harry listened intently for some hint of the outcome, for some inkling of who would be returning to him, but he couldn't hear anything except chirping night insects and rustling wind.     
  
"Are you all right, Potter?"  Snape asked quietly, his calm voice giving Harry a start. Treading softly over the earth, he made his way back to Harry.  Kneeling beside the boy, he waved his wand over him, whispering a releasing spell, and Harry fell slack from the effects of the elixir.   
  
"He didn't--," and Snape's voice faltered then, perhaps the most affected Harry had ever seen him, "he didn't _touch_ you, did he?"  
  
Harry sat up, his nausea returning.  "No, he didn't," he glowered.  "And he wouldn't have gotten the chance if you weren't so cruel."   
  
"You think me cruel?" Snape said with raised eyebrows, feigning surprise to eclipse true emotion in his gaze.   
  
"You say things to upset me when you know I have no choice but to listen," Harry said.     
  
While Harry might never have crossed that vile man's path in the first place had Snape not goaded him, one could never be certain of that.  
  
Harry's anger at Snape was really a ruse for his own self-directed frustration.  For once in his life he was attacked not because he was Harry Potter, but because that man thought he was a vulnerable young boy, and Harry's inability to prove otherwise infuriated him.  
  
Harry sighed, suddenly quite exhausted.  All he wanted was a safe place to go and sleep.     
  
His sudden lethargy made him nervous, and he glanced over Snape's shoulder into the black alley where the man must surely be.  
  
"Is he dead?" Harry asked, remembering his horrific screams.  
  
Snape didn't look at him, his eyes focused on the ground, but his colorless lips upturned ever so slightly as he whispered, "worse."   
  
Somehow this didn't appall Harry as much as it should have.   
  
"Let's go," Snape said.  "There's a hotel up the road."     
  
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It felt as if he'd been standing under the hot spray of water for an hour, but when Harry emerged from the bathroom he saw that Snape had not moved at all from his position by the window.   
  
Dark shadows shrouded his eyes and creased his gaunt face as he sat gazing out into the dusky streets.  
  
Harry did not say a word to him, choosing instead to crawl into the worn-out bed with the indented mattress, taking no notice of the dark haired man.  
  
"Do you know what you did tonight?" Snape asked faintly, not turning his fixed stare from the window.  
  
"What?" Harry asked sharply, clearly outraged by the implication that he might be at fault.  "If you're talking about underage magic--."  
  
"I was still inside the tavern," Snape interrupted.  His voice was soft, and without malice, stating simply the facts as he knew them.  "I was almost finished.  I'd noticed you'd been turned out, but I didn't know what was happening to you outside."   
  
Something in the way Snape spoke, so quietly and frankly, alerted Harry that what he was saying was important.  He moved to the edge of the mattress, watching Snape carefully while he continued.  
  
"In a place like that, I had my wits prudently about me… Do you know how I knew to come to you?" Snape asked, finally turning to look at Harry.  "Do you know what you did?"  
  
Startled, Harry shook his head, a sinking feeling quivering in his stomach.  
  
"Legilimency," Snape said.  "I had my mind shielded as tightly as I would for a Death Eater meeting, and you ripped through it like only one other ever has."  
  
Harry did not have to be told that the other he was referring to was Voldemort himself.   
  
"The last time that happened--, " Snape paused.  "It was a long time ago."  His voice dropped to a near whisper, "I must admit that I was not entirely prepared for such an assault tonight."  
  
"Did I hurt you?" Harry asked plainly, seeing now how shaken Snape was.  
  
   
  
"No," Snape said, his mouth curving in a slight sneer.  "Not any more than is considered normal."  
  
Folding his arms across his chest, Harry frowned at his Professor.  There was more to this-- no way Snape would ever admit that Harry had hurt him in even the slightest measure without a very good reason.   
  
"I'm telling you this, Potter, because it is obvious that you are completely unaware of the astounding feat of magic you performed tonight," Snape ground out.  "If it was anyone else, I would call it a fluke."   
  
"But because it's me," Harry scowled.  
  
"Because it's you, indeed, Mr. Potter," Snape retorted.  "At the height of your emotional distress, I suspect that you were able to access dormant magic within yourself."   
  
"Great," Harry said unenthusiastically.  "Some magic—can't even defend myself properly."   
  
"You must take this seriously.  Without learning some degree of control you are a potential danger to yourself and those around you."  
  
Harry sighed, too tired to argue with Snape about this right now.  "I suppose you're going to teach me then?"   
  
Leaning back in his chair Snape said, "Well, I don't see volunteers queuing for the job."  
  
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Harry returned to bed, determined to put some sleep between this hellish night and the morning.   
  
"Potter," Snape said, calling him back, "take this."  
  
Turning, Harry glanced at the proffered hand which held a small vile.  The look on his face must have revealed his confusion for Snape explained, "It's a dreamless sleep draught."   
  
"Thanks," Harry mumbled.  He downed the potion in one swig and immediately felt its soporific effects.    
  
   
  
   
  
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Snape woke Harry from his potion induced sleep before the dawn, when the sky's blackness had receded to a purple haze.   
  
Harry was absolutely certain that Snape had not slept at all, most likely having spent the night in that rickety wooden chair by the window.  For all that had happened, Harry felt rested, no small thanks to the draught.   
  
Though it was still early, there was a good number of people outside as they left the hotel.  Being strangers, their mere presence interrupted the normal morning routine for the people of this small town, and Harry felt their vigilant eyes on him.  Wanting to run, he reminded himself that blending in was most important, no matter how much he wanted to flee.   
  
"Where to?" Harry asked, forcing himself to ignore the ogling.  
  
"Breakfast," Snape replied.   
  
"But I thought--," Harry began.  
  
"You thought what? That I'd deny you basic human rights, such as proper sustenance and suitable rest?," Snape retorted.   
  
Frowning, Harry replied, "That's not what I was going to say.  I thought we were in a hurry is all."   
  
"We are," Snape said.  "But our stealthy getaway has been thwarted, so there's no need to attract more unwanted attention with our haste."   
  
They walked in silence until Snape gestured to an early morning café that was nearly empty.  In truth, Harry was relieved that Snape had suggested breakfast.  With regards to last night's incident Harry had not eaten any dinner, and the scent of freshly cooked bacon made his mouth water.   
  
Seating themselves at a small table in the back, Harry ordered the biggest breakfast that was on the menu, feeling very pleased with his choice.  
  
"We must book passage to our destination," Snape said after the waitress brought them a pot of tea.  "Walking to London will not do.  I'm told that there is a very prudent wizard in Lyft Rodor, the closest wizard city to this one, that can arrange discreet portkey travel for us."   
  
"How much will that cost?"  Harry asked, knowing that "discreet" portkey travel didn't come cheap.   
  
"Most likely more than we have," Snape said, folding his arms across his chest.  "Do not dwell on it, however. I can be very _persuasive_."  
  
Harry smirked, imagining Snape giving his "stopper in death" speech, trying to strike fear in the heart of the portkey wizard.  It sure had intimidated the hell out of him as a first year.   
  
"I assure you, Mr. Potter," Snape said, "that my influence is not the least bit funny."  
  
"I don't doubt that, sir," Harry said, grinning as a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, and bacon was placed before him (with a side order of buttered toast, potato fritters, and fresh apple slices with mint garnish).   
  
Snape watched with amusement while Harry tackled the four plates of food in front of him with gusto.  "Well, I'm glad to see you're not holding anything back," he said wryly, spreading jam across a piece of toast.  
  
Ignoring the comment, Harry enjoyed his breakfast for several minutes before he regarded Snape across the table.   
  
"Did you find out anything in the bar last night?" he asked.  "Or isn't it safe to tell me?" he added, remembering the last time he wanted information from Snape.  
  
Snape placed his tea cup down gently on the tabletop and leaned forward.  "It's safe to tell you this."   
  
Gulping down his orange juice, Harry put his glass aside, giving Snape his absolute attention.   
  
"The Dark Lord's influence is far reaching, perhaps farther than Dumbledore imagined," Snape began.  "News of your sighting at the muggle railway platform has reached even this small village.  Fortunately for us the town folk are none too bright, not having realized that the famous Harry Potter is among them."   
  
"So those wizards on the train were looking for us," Harry surmised.  "Well, for me at least."   
  
Snape nodded.  "They think that we've been separated—the word about the traitorous Death Eater is that he's dying in St. Mungo's.  Nevertheless, it's only a matter of time before they expose the subterfuge, if they haven't already."   
  
"What's our plan?" Harry asked.   
  
"Staying one step ahead," Snape replied.  "Other than that we will have to wait until we reach London to discover Dumbledore's brilliant plan."   
  
If Snape knew anymore, he was not telling Harry.  But Harry guessed that he, too, was in the dark concerning Dumbledore's intentions for them.  They were merely pawns in the chess game that Dumbledore was playing with Voldemort.  In a way, Harry supposed that he and Snape shared that in common.   
  
"Excuse me, Potter," Snape said, standing up, "I'll meet you outside."  He sifted a handful of coins onto the table before he left.   
  
Harry looked up, surprised at his abrupt departure.  Going over their mostly quiet breakfast, Harry couldn't find anything he'd said that might have agitated him.   
  
Finishing his juice quickly, Harry made to leave when he glanced out the café windows, seeing Snape sitting at an outside table, a lit joint resting between two long fingers.   
  
Harry smirked, thinking how peculiar it was that Snape still endeavored to hide his habit from him.  But then, of course, those weren't muggle cigarettes he was smoking, but Devil's Apple joints, an unadulterated poison.   
  
Pushing open the door, Harry joined Snape outside.  "I wish you wouldn't smoke those," he said.   
  
"Why not?" Snape asked, stamping out the joint.  "If I overdose, you'll be rid of me for good."   
  
Harry disregarded the remark, giving Snape a serious glare.  "Why don't you smoke those around me?"         
  
"Second hand smoke and all that," Snape responded, gesturing to the dissipating gray cloud around him.  
  
"That's not funny," Harry said, folding his arms.      
  
"I wasn't joking, Potter," Snape retorted.  "The smoke is toxic—it's the only way one extracts thornapple's medicinal properties."  He glanced at Harry, looking him up and down.  "Someone your age would asphyxiate with exposure to this."   
  
"Well, can't you take something else?"  
  
"I suppose hemlock would achieve the same effect," Snape said wittingly.  
  
 "Professor!" Harry said with mock distress.  He tapped his foot impatiently. "Seriously, it's not practical for you to continue with a substance that I can't be in the vicinity of."  
  
Harry noticed a very faint facial expression, a gentle upward curving of the corners of his mouth, transgressed Snape's usually stern visage, possibly indicating amusement... or derision. Harry knew not which.   
  
"I suppose you have a point there, Potter," Snape conceded, clearly amused.  "We'll make a stop into an apothecary in Lyft Rodor."  
  
Harry was amazed that he'd actually gotten Snape to agree with him without a battle of wits. Eyeing him suspiciously as they crossed the street, Harry wondered if Snape had consented just to appease him.  He made a mental note to keep an eye or at least an ear on Professor Snape.   
  
   
  
   
  
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As Harry thought on it, the man they had asked for directions seemed less and less reliable the farther they ventured.   
  
The old, crooked man, with a wisp of white hair and a toothless grin had assured them that Lyft Rodor was not far from here, that they just had to continue straight on this old dirt road and they couldn't miss the city.  But the man had looked to be over a hundred, probably his mind was going, Harry reasoned, and he most likely couldn't hear all that well.   
  
"This can't be right," Harry said aloud, looking up at the large trees that flanked either side of the road.   
  
"What makes you say that, Mr. Potter?"  Snape asked as they persisted on.   
  
"Have you noticed this road we're on?"  Harry asked incredulously, jogging to catch up with Snape.  "It looks like the road less traveled that's for sure!  No one has probably used this road in a hundred years… that man probably didn't even realize it, he's so old."   
  
"My, my, Potter," Snape chided.  "That's a great deal of judgment for one sentence."  
  
"Well, look at this forest!  The trees are taller than I've ever seen.  If I didn't know better, I'd say we were in some dark recess of the Forbidden Forest."  
  
"Are you frightened of the dark?"  Snape asked snidely.  "Shall I light my wand?"  
  
"No, of course I'm not afraid of the dark," Harry retorted.  "It's the things that lurk within it that scare me," he said under his breath, then he added loudly, "It's like this road is never ending."   
  
"A little patience might suit you better," Snape remarked quietly.   
  
A blush rose to his cheeks while they continued the length of the dirt path in silence.  Harry hadn't meant to whine.  It was just that this eerie darkness along such a lonesome road which looked as if it belonged in the Forbidden Forest leading into the heart of Voldemort's stronghold made Harry a bit nervous.   
  
"I haven't had much luck with forests," Harry said evenly.   
  
If Snape cared, he indicated not.  Instead, the Potion's Master walked obstinately forward.  His quick pace hadn't faltered once, and had Harry not been distracted by his surroundings he might have noticed the risk he was taking.   
  
The trees were so tall that Harry could not make out their tops, only a darkened shadow of a canopy. Invisible birds and God knew what other types of unseen creatures screeched within the overcast nebula of limbs.  
  
Looking upward at the moss covered columns of trees reaching into the blackened heavens, Harry squinted at the sky, trying to remember what time of day it was or had they been walking so long that they'd passed into night?  
  
Not paying attention to the road in front of him, Harry collided right into Snape, who had stopped walking to assess what lay facing them.  
  
"Sorry," Harry whispered, stepping back from him.   
  
Snape acknowledged him with a curt nod. He stared intently into the misty path as if he could discern something within the foggy depths.   
  
"Look there," Snape said, stooping to Harry's eye level. He placed a hand on his shoulder and with the other pointed ahead. "Do you see?"   
  
Scrunching his eyes, Harry peered into the drifting brume, and through it he saw soft, yellow lights.   
  
"It's the city," Harry said excitedly.   
  
"So it would seem," Snape replied.   
  
Breaking from Snape's grasp, Harry raced ahead, disappearing into the obscuring haze.   
  
"Potter!" Snape barked. "Stay where I can see you."   
  
"Come on, Professor," Harry said, his voice muffled from the mist, "you've got to see this."   
  
Sighing heavily, Snape stepped forward. The dense fog enveloped him completely, swallowing him up in its billowy depths.  
  
_To be continued....  
_  
  
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Author's Notes:  
  
Okay, are you still with me folks?  
  
I hope some of you can forgive me for being "evil"...  
  
I'm sorry for not updating as quickly as I had hoped. Some very spontaneous things happened while I was writing this chapter, so watch out world for chapter nine!   
  
As always, feedback is appreciated. Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal!  
  
Since removes a lot of characters, I have to spell it out for you all.  
  
Li [underscore] bell [underscore] ule [at] yahoo [dot] com  
  
and  
  
Libelluledate [dot] bravejournal [dot] com  
  
They're both in my profile, see above.   
  
Thanks everyone!  
  
--Li  
  
PS Does anyone know of a good free web hosting service? Please e-mail me privately. I want to move my site and update it and make it nice and spiffy for you all... put some Snape and Harry things on there in addition to YST (I haven't forgotten my YST fans, even though it seems like it!).


	9. Secrets and Lies

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together…

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…

Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Nine

.o.

.o.

.o.

Against his better judgment, Snape waded into the heavy fog. What choice did he have but to follow where Harry had gone? The boy was too impetuous for his own good, and he foresaw the kind of trouble that boldness would get him into someday.

Snape did not like the hindered visual range of his surroundings, the swirling mist amounting so thickly that he could barely make out his own hands in front of him. Years of distrust kept his senses well informed, however, so he knew that someone was fast approaching him.

"Look," Harry said, suddenly appearing at his right elbow. "It's a stone tower."

As the fog wafted away, Snape looked up at the emerging column of stacked stones. Its twin loomed only ten feet away with a high wooden gate between them.

The gate, for all its protection, was unlocked and swung gently on its black iron hinges.

"Come," Snape said easing the massive door open further, "before the guard returns and asks us questions we cannot answer."

Harry readily agreed, trailing close behind Snape as he stepped through the gate.

"Who are _you_, then?" asked a voice from above.

Harry spun around seeing a young man sitting high on a stool overlooking the entrance. The youth could not have been older than Harry was, his callow face plainly showing his naiveté. Brown hair all a mess, clothes rumpled and carelessly patched together, the kid reminded Harry of a gypsy.

What he lacked in experience, however, he made up for with determination, as was evident by his no-nonsense glare.

Not sure how to answer him, Harry froze, but Snape stepped in smoothly saving him from spouting some half-decent obfuscation.

"My name is Grisha Tarasov," Snape lied with surprising ease of Russian accent. "This is my nephew Boris. You must excuse him for he is mute."

Harry glared up at Snape, but held his tongue.

"Tarasov?" the kid questioned. He put on an impossibly huge pair of spectacles, fastening them with a buckling strap to the back of his head. "Let's see what we have here. You're on the list, right?"

"But of course," Snape replied as the kid dropped a ridiculously long scroll, searching for their names.

Harry felt a twinge of anxiety wondering how Snape was going to get them out of this. How could those absurd names be on that list?

"What's your business here in Lyft Rodor?" the kid asked conversationally as he searched the scroll.

"There is doctor here who is very good with the dumb," Snape supplied. "Boris will learn cure."

"Well, ah, Mister Tarasov, sir, I can't seem to find your names," the kid said, obviously intimidated by Snape's disquieting glare.

Snape bent to pick up a section of the scroll, examining it as if he was confused by the absence of their names.

"I believe is here," Snape said running his finger across a line of text. "Under "T" for Tarasov."

Duly impressed, Harry smiled slyly as he watched the letters rearrange themselves. Snape had altered the names on the scroll with the mere touch of his hand to the fake names he'd given earlier.

_He'll have to teach me that one_, Harry thought.

The kid pulled up the scroll in bunches to where Snape had pointed, scrutinizing the names written there carefully.

"Blimely, so it is!" the kid exclaimed scratching his head. "Sorry about the confusion." He smiled sheepishly, eager to put his blunder behind him.

"Not a problem," Snape said ushering Harry along.

"Hey, good luck Boris," the kid said as they left.

Harry turned back finding himself saying, "thanks."

The three of them froze; Harry knew he'd really stepped in it this time.

Snape chuckled and said, "is miracle," grabbing Harry by the collar and pushing him ahead.

"Don't forget to check out when you leave," the kid called after him, oblivious to the deception. "Regulations and all that!"

When they were out of earshot Snape grumbled, "Nice going, Potter. Nearly gave us away, if that boy had not been so dimwitted--."

"_Sorry_," Harry hissed. "But _Boris_ the _mute_?"

"Every time you open your mouth, it brings us trouble," Snape said. "I thought it would be best if you kept silent."

Sighing heavily, he followed Snape out of the gateway and into the city. Harry looked up, amazed by what he saw.

It was a metropolis of towers, of great stone structures bending and sloping, wending their way into the sky. Lights glittered up above from the numerous spires, like lighted Christmas trees. Harry had never seen such a place, where business and everyday life was conducted in the air.

The stone towers twisted upward swaying with the wind, prompting Harry to ask, "How do they stand?"

"Really, Potter, must you ask?" Snape said with disdain. "_Magic_ keeps them aloft."

"Must be some kind of magic! It's just that I've never seen anything like it," Harry said with awe.

"Most people won't," Snape said, leading Harry through the labyrinth of towers.

Lyft Rodor was one of the oldest wizarding cities, protected by its surrounding forest. The trees provided natural camouflage, as did the thick mist that hung around the city.

Wide-eyed, Harry watched the activity around him. Wizards and witches on broomsticks flew overhead in lines of traffic, the city bustling with such life that he could almost hear how the urban quarter moved, jiving in and out like an organic thing taking a breath.

Harry's attention was diverted from the hustle and bustle above to a conversation on the ground.

A tall man with wild blond hair spoke harshly to a fidgeting goblin, which shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Nodding vigorously at the man, he readily agreed with whatever he said, obviously eager to please him.

Harry thought it odd that a goblin seemed so fearful. As Harry and Snape walked past them, the man straightened, finished with chastising the Goblin. He glanced at Harry with mismatched eyes, gave a wink then transfigured into an owl, flying high into the sky traffic.

The Goblin rushed past them as soon as the wild haired man was out of sight, hurrying straight for the city's Goblin bank. It also happened to be where Snape was leading him.

"There is high security here," Snape said as they stepped into the old building. "This is the site of the infamous bank heist of 1694."

Enormous columns of marble flanked the entrance of the deceivingly large space. Cool and quiet on the inside, Harry found it rather like a museum with the same sense of hush.

"So what happened?" Harry asked looking at the subdued Goblins who worked the bank. "Who would knock over this place?"

"Five Goblins and one wizard," Snape replied. "It was suspected to be an inside job. The city nearly buckled to financial ruin after more or less all the vaults were emptied."

"How could anyone make off with that much in Galleons, sickles and knuts?"

"Anyway he can," Snape said dryly. "Once the defense system was in place, the city thrived with new arrivals and along with it an extensive illegal market."

"I thought you said the city has lots of security?" Harry challenged.

"It does." Snape stopped to explain. "Only two types of people are allowed: those who belong here and those who know how to override the system. Once you are in, you are protected by the very methods meant to keep you out. The economy would most likely collapse if these black market dealings ever stopped, so it is greatly overlooked."

"So how does someone get in?" Harry asked. "Legally, I mean."

"It's rather like making a reservation for a hotel with a thorough background check."

Harry scoffed, "The security didn't seem that strict. You were able to get us in--."

"Wait a minute, Potter, before you get fool ideas in your head," Snape retorted. "The only reason that worked is because I have been here before under that name, so many years ago that I was surprised the scroll remembered Grisha Tarasov."

"How long ago?" Harry asked.

"I was ten," Snape ground out, his voice harsh, discernibly remembering something unpleasant. He strode past Harry towards one of the goblin tellers.

_So that's how he knows so much about this place_, Harry thought as he hurried to keep up. He frowned, this thoughts darkening. _What kind of life requires a ten year old to lie about his identity?_

He brushed the thought aside, knowing Snape would not tolerate questions about his personal life. Instead, he thought about the task at hand.

Despite Snape's unpleasant mood, Harry was compelled to ask, "Wouldn't activity in your account arouse suspicion, not to mention pinpoint our location?"

"Very astute, Mr. Potter," Snape remarked. "While Severus Snape may draw unwanted attention, Grisha Tarasov will not."

Harry examined Snape closely, realizing how very little he knew about the man before him. "How many people are you?" he whispered.

Anyone else might have missed it, but Harry noticed the glint in Snape's coal black eyes. "Too many, Mr. Potter."

In light of his _faux pas_ earlier, Harry thought it would be best if he waited in the lobby for Snape to complete the transaction, but Snape was insistent that he stay within his view at all times.

If he hadn't known Snape for the past five years, Harry might have thought he was worried about him after the "incident" with the man, but overprotective didn't fit the snarky Potion Master's persona.

Harry decided to grin and bear it, not in any mood for a fight.

One could learn a lot from observing Snape. He was the picture of calm as he presented his false identification and requested a hefty sum from vault 714. As is their nature, the Goblin behind the counter was suspicious (the same fidgety Goblin Harry had seen outside), but could not disprove that Snape was not Tarasov since all his papers were in order.

When the Goblin returned with a heavy satchel of coins Snape smiled politely, thanked him in Russian, and quickly ushered Harry out of the bank, his black cape billowing behind him.

.o.

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"Let's stop in here," Snape said opening the door to Simka's Delights, an apothecary and tea shop.

The scent of vanilla and lilac filled the shop as sunlight spilled across rows of sage green wooden shelves. Glass bottles filled with various herbs and oily substances glistened in the light, sending scattered refractions across the room.

Harry suspected that Snape was a bit like a kid in a candy store as he walked down each aisle, carefully examining the items on the shelves, lifting certain vials reverently, turning them about with his elegant hands.

He smiled as he watched him, slightly surprised that Snape appeared to be keeping his word about the thornapple.

Eying a shelf filled with small glass containers, Harry read aloud the familiar label, "Elsie's Homegrown Herbs."

"Very good," Snape said, coming up beside him. "Those are Leonora's."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Why do they say Elsie?"

Snape grunted disdainfully, putting the jar back. "Her initials are "L. C.", Leonora Cwen. The name "Elsie" appeals to her sense of humor."

Harry grinned. "I like it," he said.

Snape just rolled his eyes, moving past him to examine the contents of another shelf.

Lingering at Leonora's products, Harry smiled at finding a trace of her in an unfamiliar place.

While he loitered, he couldn't help but overhear two gossiping witches in the next aisle.

"...I heard she was sighted not too far from here," said one witch to the other.

"Saints preserve us, don't say that!" cried the superstitious old woman. "Say a prayer quick, and may the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange never cross us!"

It was an innocent enough comment, made by two witches sorting through herbs for protection spells, but to Harry such a remark rocked him to the core, so unexpected it was.

Just the mention of her name brought him back to the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic that day Sirius was lost.

Harry gripped the large wooden shelf thankful that it was solid and capable of keeping him upright as his body sagged.

Heart pounding, thundering loud in his chest, _Bellatrix Lestrange_... her name rang in his ears.

"Potter, let's go," Snape said, gesturing for him to pursue as he headed towards the door.

He followed Snape wordlessly, trying to sort through the chaos in his head.

Bellatrix was after them— she had to be. Harry's anger got the better of him; dizzying white spots splayed the breadth his vision. There was no question in his mind. He had to kill her this time.

So consumed by his rage, Harry was barely aware of where Snape was leading them. All the buildings were sky scraping, so immense that Harry's eyes watered as he peered upwards in some attempt to locate the top.

"What is this place?" Harry asked as they entered the lobby of one of those soaring buildings.

"You haven't heard a word I've said," Snape replied with a sigh of impatience. "We're going to need a place to stay. I don't know how many days it will take to arrange a portkey."

The inside was obviously ancient, but well kept. Cold, unforgiving stones made up the walls, sending a chill through Harry. There was something dank and depressing about solid stonewalls. It reminded him of the dungeons at Hogwarts.

All the rooms were high up in lofty towers, each boasting the best view of the city. Harry couldn't believe his ears when he heard Snape request a room not connected to the floo network. That meant they'd have to climb nearly a hundred steps to get to their room.

Harry trudged after Snape towards the stairwell, brooding over the day's misfortunes.

"You've been uncharacteristically quiet," Snape said, glaring at him keenly. "You'd best tell me what's with you before you burst."

Now, Harry knew only one of two things could be true. Either Snape wasn't aware that Bellatrix Lestrange was after them, or he knew and hadn't bothered to tell him.

Harry suspected which it was.

"Professor, how long have you known about Bellatrix Lestrange?" Harry asked audaciously, insolence clearly in every word.

Snape's lips twisted upwards in a sneer. "Since the tavern," he said evenly.

"Were you planning on telling me?" Harry growled.

"No," Snape replied simply, folding his arms across his chest.

"How could you?" Harry screamed, his voice echoing in the tall tower stairwell. "How could you keep that from me?"

"Exactly how, pray tell, would your knowledge of Bellatrix Lestrange's whereabouts improve your situation?" Snape's voice was low, taking on a "watch yourself, Potter" tone.

"Because then I could kill her!" Harry snarled, his being welling with hatred.

"Which is exactly why I did not inform you-- such a foolish thought in your foolish head," Snape said softly. He continued up the stairs towards their room.

"I will kill her-- you can't stop me!" Harry shouted, filled with iron rage at Snape turning his back on him, at his indifferent lack of interest and concern.

Snape whirled around, looming menacingly over Harry, a snarl on his face.

"Do you know what it takes to kill another human being?" Snape hissed. "Do you realize what you must become to commit such an act?" A sneer crossed his features. "You couldn't do it then, what makes you think you can now?"

"She killed Sirius! She deserves to die!" Harry shouted.

"She _deserves_, Mr. Potter?" Snape questioned. "You know _nothing_ of what she deserves. Death is last on a long list of unforgivables."

"You don't understand," Harry roared. "Sirius is dead-- the last tie I had to my parents. He was my Godfather, and she took him away. I hardly had any time with him at all." Harry's words were a slur of emotion, coming out fast and bitter. "No one mourned for Sirius. He deserves better. He deserves vengeance, and I'll get it for him."

"Potter, you will _not_ pursue Bellatrix Lestrange," Snape refuted, his voice reaching a dangerous low. "Is that clear?"

Harry glared up at him defiantly. "Perfectly," he said angrily.

And they both knew Harry had no intention of obeying Snape. Should the opportunity to confront Bellatrix arise, Harry would take it.

In silence, Harry plodded heavy-footed the rest of the way to the top where the room Snape had rented was located.

The door opened with an old-fashioned iron key, turning in the lock as smoothly as butter.

The room itself was actually quite nice, if somewhat old. There was a Persian rug on the floor and two lavishly cushioned chairs around a chess top table. A four-post bed was facing the window and the view was quite spectacular.

Snape put his bag on the table, and Harry walked to the window, looking at the cityscape. Peering below, all he could make out from this height was swirling mist that pooled around the stone tower.

Harry gazed out at the neighboring towers, their tall, slender forms backlit by the light of the moon. Fatigue overcame him as he realized the hour. How quickly the night had come without his knowledge.

As he stood staring, he heard the hinges creek. Harry whirled around in time to see the door shut behind him.

"No!" Harry shouted, running to the door.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Snape said from the other side, magically sealing the entryway.

Harry pounded against the dense wood shouting, "Let me out!"

"It's for your own good," Snape said. "It's for your protection," he whispered, "your safety."

"Snape, you bastard! Let me out! Bellatrix is mine-- You can't stop me!" Harry screamed with all his might. The panicky feeling of being imprisoned in a cupboard returned to him with startling clarity. "Please," he pleaded, "don't lock me in here."

Snape paused outside the door, recognizing the hysteria creeping into Harry's voice, but forced himself to walk away, continuing down the many steps until he could no longer hear the anger stricken cries.

Despite Harry's desperate attempts, the door would not unseal.

_To be continued..._

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Author's Notes:

[ETA: 10-28-08: I'm noticing that is messing around with this "older" story. This chapter subsequently disappeared. Other chapters have had their formatting removed. If you find a problem with the story, like missing quotation marks or a missing chapter, PLEASE send me a message and I will fix it. Thanks for reading! ~Li]

First off, I'm really annoyed at ff . net for getting rid of my page spacing. As an artist I want my story to breathe in the right places visually, so I must apologize for anyone reading this who feels that it's "cramped".

I know I sound like a broken record: I'm sorry for not updating as quickly as I had expected. I really hope you all like this chapter as it sets in motion events for the future!

As always, feedback is appreciated. Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal listed in my user profile.

Thanks everyone!

--Li


	10. Harder to Breathe

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.  
  
Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together…  
  
Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five…  
  
Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.  
  
.o.  
  
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Circumstance  
  
By Libellule  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
.o.  
  
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The crack in the ceiling started in the corner, then fractured its way across the room in hundreds of spidery off shoots. It got deeper right over the bed where Harry was laying, the line appearing black and ominous.  
  
He was quite depleted now, having spent many furious hours cursing Snape, trying every magical spell and incantation he could think of to open the door. Whatever spell Snape had used to seal the door (and it was far beyond _colloportus_) was stronger magic than Harry possessed to break it.  
  
He tried to remember what was going through his head when he tapped into "dormant" magic, when he supposedly used legilimency, but Harry was unable to replicate it.  
  
While the spacious room was more lavish than the cupboard under the stairs or even his bedroom at Privet Drive, it was still no better than a jail cell to Harry.  
  
When he had realized there was nothing he could do to open the door, Harry set free his rage, flipping over chairs, ripping curtains down, disrupting anything he could lift.  
  
Fury coursed through Harry so forcibly that he trembled, physically shaking his rage so great. The space flushed with heat, the walls quivering from the intensity of it.  
  
Nothing was spared, not even Snape's bag which he had, incidentally, left behind in his haste. With all his might, Harry had hurled it across the room and the black bag smashed with a satisfying _crack_ against the stone walls.  
  
His frustrations did nothing but tire him, the room was hot and the door remained secured. Energy spent, Harry flopped on the bed. There was nothing he could do until Snape came back.  
  
So he laid on the bed, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, his thoughts taking free reign.  
  
In this stone prison, Harry turned over events in his mind, over and over until all the rough edges were smooth and he could finally swallow it.  
  
Little things, that had once been mere annoyance, took on new meaning now: _Stay where I can see you,_ Snape had said, the whole time knowing that Bellatrix was a breath away, the way he hurried along the old road to get to this lofty city, never slowing his pace even though it must have hurt him to keep such a speed. Harry should have known it to be odd, but he had no inkling that these dangers were about.  
  
Feeling discomforted, Harry flopped over onto his stomach as he searched for answers within himself.  
  
Why _had_ he reacted so violently to the news of Bellatrix? Deep down he couldn't ignore the feelings twisting inside of him. It wasn't so much his desire to kill Bellatrix-- Harry had said that in anger.  
  
_What I wanted-- what I truly want_-- he thought desperately.  
  
What did he want? He squeezed his eyes tightly, not wanting to think it.  
  
Too late as his emotions flooded him-- his heart's desire, so stark and simple, was but to be loved.  
  
Sirius could have been that for him, filling a void that had been there nearly his whole life. Without realizing it he'd shaped Siruis into a symbol of his parents, of the family he could have had. Bellatrix had destroyed his hopes of ever achieving it.  
  
Who was there now? His aunt Petunia? Lupin? Professor Snape? Surely not-- Harry nearly chucked at the thought. Even the Weasley's, for all their kindness, made Harry yearn for what he never really had, conducted him to realize how his notion of family paled in comparison to what it actually could be.  
  
And Snape-- Harry's deepest shame was that he'd actually begun to trust him, slowly, without realizing it. The betrayal of that fragile trust was the heart of Harry's rage.  
  
Harry laid on the bed for a long time, lost to his thoughts until he finally decided that it wouldn't do to brood over things he could not change.  
  
Chagrinned, Harry surveyed the damage he'd inflicted upon the room. It was nothing a bit of magic wouldn't fix, so he set to it straight away, using his wand to right chairs and rehang the curtains.  
  
As he restored the room, Harry felt the strange sensation of air fleeting around him-- a breeze blowing through the stone walled chamber. He turned, suspiciously gazing at the door.  
  
Harry went over to it, eying the old wooden planks up and down, and pushed with all his might.  
  
Suddenly the door gave with surprising ease-- the magical seal had apparently worn off. Harry stumbled through to the hallway, catching himself just shy of tumbling down the stairs.  
  
If Harry hadn't been so vexed, he might have been concerned, might have stopped to think about why such strong magic had unexpectedly faded away.  
  
But Harry thought naught of that as he raced down the steps of the tower. Coming to the landing that connected the 85th and 83rd step, Harry halted upon finding Professor Snape slumped against the wall, knees pulled into his chest.  
  
Two conflicting emotions warred inside him, his righteous anger and hair-raising panic.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell," Harry murmured, crouching beside the curled over Potions Master. "What now?"  
  
Laboring hard, jagged gasps that stumbled over each other, Snape was clearly fighting to take even a single breath. Black eyes bored into Harry's with urgency, imploring him to understand.  
  
_He really can't breathe_, Harry observed as Snape shuddered against the wall. Each rasp he drew in provided little for his lungs. Harry knew he needed help before he suffocated.  
  
"What happened?" Harry asked with more patience than he thought himself capable of.  
  
While Snape's decision to lock him in the tower was reprehensible, Harry could not take delight in his suffering. Seeing Snape, one usually completely in control, a pillar of ill-mannered strength, now at the brink of collapse actually sent a shock of fear through Harry.  
  
"...apparated," Snape wheezed, a miserable, harrowing sound escaping from his parted lips. His labored gasps reminded Harry of a sudden asthma attack, the way his breath heaved and his chest shuddered.  
  
"_Why_?" Harry pressed, yet even before he uttered the question he knew that only desperation could have forced Snape's hand.  
  
"Bellatrix..." he gasped.  
  
"Did she see you?" Harry asked, his stomach prickling with nervous energy.  
  
"I saw him, Potter."  
  
Harry looked down the winding steps, and standing a few below was the terrifying form Bellatrix Lestrange. Her tall frame stood haughtily before him, dark hair trailing haggardly down her back, and her black eyes were sunken. Azkaban Prison had worn her down, reducing her features to a frightening scowl, and her time with Voldemort had not restored her.  
  
She must have followed Snape here, apparating directly into the stairwell.  
  
Wand ready, gripped firmly by his side, Harry stood to face the Death Eater, his fury over Sirius returning as he gazed upon her.  
  
Snape grasped Harry's arm, grip surprisingly strong in his weakened state. "No," he gasped, shaking his head slightly for emphasis.  
  
Harry ignored him, easily pulling his arm free and stepping from his reach. This time Snape could not stop him.  
  
"Severus," Bellatrix hissed, her cold stare fixed on the fallen wizard. "Seems that you're enjoying your traitor's death," she sneered. "Though, I must say I'm quite impressed you managed this far. You've been surprisingly swift for a dying man."  
  
She pointed her wand at him shouting, "When I'm through with you, you gutless turncoat, you'll pray for the mercy of death."  
  
The blood in Harry's veins turned cold at the impending malice of her words. A surge of protectiveness seized him and he stepped in front of Snape, blocking Bellatrix's view of him.  
  
"Potter," she growled, raising her wand to engage him. "No Dumbledore to save you now. This time you will not run away."  
  
"As I recall," Harry sneered, adrenaline rushing through him, "you were the one who did the running."  
  
A spark of anger lit her dead eyes and she snarled, "You will pay for the _annoyance_ you caused the Dark Lord."  
  
As they faced off, Harry knew he'd only have one shot to immobilize her at this range. A tower stairwell was no place for a duel. It would be quick, Harry realized. Whatever the outcome, it would come quickly.  
  
Like many women, Bellatrix was a tease, daring Harry to hex her first with her cold, smug stare. A death eater, a witch experienced beyond Harry's years, she had the upper hand in this battle.  
  
Without warning, Bellatrix hurled a hex at Harry, shrieking loudly as a bolt of red light shot from her wand. Instincts taking over, Harry deflected it away, the hex hitting the wall behind her.  
  
She fired again, quickly in rapid succession. Harry parried most of the curses, but a red jolt got through his defense, striking his shoulder.  
  
Hissing in pain, Harry swayed as a dizzying rush of heat tore through his body, traveling down his arm making it numb. Harry held fast to his wand, clenching his fist around the smooth handle.  
  
Bellatrix took this moment to her advantage, sending another barrage of hexes at him, intent on making him fall.  
  
"_Torpeo!_" she cried, and the spell did not miss its mark.  
  
Harry stepped back to block it, but lost his footing on the steps behind him, and stumbled back on the landing where Snape was slumped. The curse made his entire body deaden, anesthetized and unresponsive. His hand fell slack and his wand clattered loudly on the stone steps.  
  
Towering over him, Bellatrix laughed maniacally, "And how easily the infamous Harry Potter falls!" Her eyes were frenzied, clearly deranged. "You will scream for me now."  
  
Mercilessly, Bellatrix raised her wand and uttered, "_Crucio!_"  
  
Harry groped for his wand knowing he'd never grasp it in time.  
  
"_Declino!"_ Snape shouted. In a display of truly awesome magic that cost him dearly to conjure, he interjected a shield of white swirling energy over them that obstructed the Cruciatus Curse. He maintained it for a few moments then fell slack against the wall.  
  
Giving off a shocked, angry screech, Bellatrix cried, "You've interfered for the last time, Snape!" Gathering energy around her, she cast a fearsome hex at the incapacitated Potions Master.  
  
"_Accio_ wand!" Harry shouted. The moment his wand reached his outstretched fingers, he aimed at Bellatrix and yelled, "_Protego!_"  
  
The hex rebounded back on her immediately, hitting Bellatrix squarely in the chest. Her wand flew from her hand as her balance faltered, and with her arms flailing wildly, fingers clawing at air, she hurled backward down the steps.  
  
All was eerily silent. Peering down into the stairwell, Harry saw Bellatrix sprawled across the steps, unconscious. He exhaled loudly, almost not believing his sheer luck.  
  
Taking no chances, he cast a binding spell on her, hoping it would be strong enough to hold her, as he turned his attention back to Professor Snape.  
  
"Professor?" Harry ventured, moving beside him. "What can I do?"  
  
His face deathly pale and his lips a blueish hue, Snape faltered for a moment while he gathered enough air to speak.  
  
"...my bag," he whispered.  
  
Color drained from Harry's face as he thought about the resounding crash Snape's bag had made as it impacted with the wall during the height of his fury. Wasting no time, Harry went quickly to get it, hoping against hope that he hadn't destroyed what Snape needed.  
  
Returning with a sopping wet bag Harry floundered with an explanation. "One of the vials must have broke," he said meekly as he placed the bag in Snape's lap. "I'm sorry-- I didn't know--."  
  
Unable to speak, Snape fumbled through the mess. Finally after what seemed like ages, he retrieved an undamaged cruet filled with clear liquid. Blood ran down his palm, having cut it on a shard of glass from the broken bottles. Weakly, he held out the container to Harry to uncork it.  
  
Quickly, Harry pulled the topper off and thrust the cruet back into Snape's hand. His hand shook, and Snape spilled the liquid all over the sleeve of his robe.  
  
"No," Harry hissed, reaching to take the cruet before he spilled it all, though it was too late by the time he grabbed hold.  
  
But Snape then lifted his sleeve to his face, covering his nose and mouth, and breathed deeply, inhaling the fumes, holding that breath for as long as he could before he gasped for another.  
  
He coughed violently, but Harry saw no blood in it, he realized with relief.  
  
"Bellatrix?" Snape rasped, closing his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing.  
  
"She's unconscious," Harry replied. "I think."  
  
"Binding spell?" Snape asked.  
  
"Yes, she's not going anywhere."  
  
"Are you hurt, Potter?"  
  
"No," he answered, rubbing his shoulder. "Just a little sore."  
Harry paused, trying to assess their situation. "What do we do now, Professor?" Harry whispered as Snape composed himself.  
  
"We must get out of here," Snape said. "To the portkey."  
  
Harry nodded. "How far is it?"  
  
"Far," Snape said. "Gather your things." Harry expected Snape to follow, but he made no attempt to get up.  
  
"Sir?" Harry questioned.  
  
"We must apparate," he said quietly.  
  
"You absolutely can_not_ apparate!" Harry exclaimed. "You probably can't even stand up without my help."  
  
"I don't need to stand to apparate," Snape hissed.  
  
"But you need to breathe," Harry retorted.  
  
"I've not the strength to argue with you," Snape said. "The more time we waste, the closer they come-- Do you think you can fight off a group of Death Eaters?"  
  
Harry didn't answer.  
  
"I could probably hold them off for five, maybe six minutes at most," Snape said quietly. "How far do you think you could get, Mr. Potter, in that short span of time? Far enough to not make my forfeit have been in vain?"  
  
"Fine," Harry retorted. "It's your funeral."  
  
Snape smirked. "God willing," he murmured. "Come here," he beckoned.  
  
The Gryffindor in Harry just couldn't understand the Slytherin in Snape.  
  
Harry did as he was told, kneeling down beside him. Snape placed his hands on on Harry's shoulders, letting them slide down his arms resting at his elbows.  
  
"Prepare yourself," Snape said and in the next instant Harry felt the lurch of apparation.  
  
_To be continued..._  
  
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Author's Notes:  
  
Well, it was either post tonight or keep you waiting another four weeks... rather than do that, I opted to post. Thank you for being so patient. I am very sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
  
As always, feedback is appreciated (oh please let me know how I'm doing!!). Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal!  
  
Since fanfiction dot net removes a lot of characters, I have to spell it out for you all.  
  
Li underscore bell underscore ule at yahoo dot com  
  
and  
  
Libelluledate dot bravejournal dot com  
  
They're both in my ff . net profile, see above.  
  
Thanks everyone!  
  
--Li


	11. Introspection

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

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Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Eleven

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And they were off, his eyes squeezed shut against the dizzying whirl of apparation.

Black fire streaked through his body, burning hot and wild. Harry knew right away that something was wrong.

Something had _snapped_, he'd felt the pop loud in his ears.

While he'd never apparated himself, he'd experienced it before, and knew that though they were moving impossibly fast, it was not quite fast enough, almost slow motion, as if any moment they'd drop into free fall.

Snape, however, did not allow them to fall. Harry's stomach reeled as they suddenly lurched to a halt, stopping dead, materializing in yet another room that he did not recognize.

The floor rushed up to meet them- its unyielding solidity inflexible beneath Harry's feet. The force of impact brought Harry stumbling to his knees. Snape went down with him, anchored as they were to each other.

With trembling hands, Snape released Harry. He peered at the boy slowly, his coal black eyes dull and listless. He swayed for a moment, before sagging forward, the life going out of him.

" Professor!" Harry exclaimed, catching him fast, supporting Snape against his chest before he could hit the floor.

Fear struck through him like lightning to a tree. Snape laid slack in his arms, lifeless as a ragdoll, his head lolled to one side as his hair fell in a black curtain obscuring his face.

"Professor Snape?" Harry asked. He gently turned Snape over, rolling him onto his back to check his breathing. Harry leaned in close, listening carefully. His breaths were slow, but he was breathing without trouble, not like before when his lips had turned blue and he couldn't inhale without wheezing.

It wouldn't do to let Snape stay on the floor. Harry glanced around at his surroundings, noticing for the first time how large the space was.

The room was old, creaking beneath their weight, but well kept. Solid oak furniture, polished to a shine, reflected the soft orange light of the crackling fire. There was a short corridor leading to another room, which Harry guessed was a second bedroom. If he didn't know better, Harry would swear that they were in the Leaky Cauldron. They couldn't be though, apparating a distance that far would likely kill Snape.

" Harry?" a voice asked from behind him. Whirling around, Harry looked up into the familiar visage of Dumbledore. Concern easily understood on his face, the older wizard knelt beside them, quicker than Harry thought a wizard of his age could.

"Are you all right my boy?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes staring over the rims of his half moon glasses.

"Yes, I'm fine, but Snape- he wasn't breathing right because he apparated-, " Harry stopped suddenly, confusion furrowing his brow. "Hang on- where are we? How did you find us? "

"You're in London, Harry, at the Leaky Cauldron," Dumbledore said calmly, moving around him to tend to Snape. He whispered, "_mobilicorpus_ ," and carefully moved the unconscious wizard from the floor to the bed.

"_What_? " Harry asked, sitting back.

_London..._ The word send reverberations through him, the implications of what that one word meant barely began to sink in. _He _really_ could have killed himself...  
_  
"He _lied_, " Harry finally managed to say. "He lied to me. "

Snape had apparated them the rest of the way to London- had there ever even been arrangements for a portkey?

For the second time that evening, Harry felt a blush of shame cross his face at his own naiveté. He didn't know why he was so surprised. Snape had no scruples about bending perceptions to suit his own needs.

" Professor Snape did not lie to you about the portkey," Dumbledore said. He crossed the small room and reached for a timepiece on the mantle. " This portkey had been active, but suddenly expired without notice. "

Suddenly, Harry's eyes widened. " Bellatrix!" he exclaimed. "She must have gotten to him first. They must have dueled-. "

"Bellatrix Lestrange found you?" Dumbledore asked, the twinkle in his eyes gone.

"Yes, she caught up to us in the tower, " Harry explained. He spent the next few minutes relaying to Dumbledore what had transpired since he'd seen them last (excluding a few details here and there, like the ice bridge incident and the grimy man from the tavern).

"You battled Bellatrix?" Dumbledore interrupted when Harry came to that part of the story.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a battle. I got lucky," Harry admitted. "She's unconscious and bound in the tower we were staying at in Lyft Rodor. "

"I'll contact the ministry right away. You best get some rest. There's an adjoining bedroom at the end of the hall. "

" Will Snape be okay?" Harry asked, glancing at the man on the bed. If Bellatrix had gotten to Snape before he reached the tower, who knows what damage could be done? Why didn't Harry realize it sooner?

" The exertion has depleted Professor Snape, but he should be just fine after a night's rest."

Suddenly fatigued, Harry allowed himself to be prodded from the room toward the second bedroom. Flopping down on the soft mattress, Harry found that despite his exhaustion he could not find sleep. Morose thoughts wracked his brain, keeping him awake .

He couldn't understand _him_. Why would Snape risk himself again? For what? For a boy he'd shown nothing but loathing to for five years? And here the man was, taxed to the point of unconsciousness, sending mixed messages to an already very confused teenaged boy.

He'd lied to him. Harry suspected it was because had he known of Snape's plans, he would have insisted that he find another way- _the stubborn git_. Again, Harry was treated like a child, whose feelings were inconsequential and unimportant, trivial to the adult who was supposed to know what's best. But Snape's continual concern for his safety was like a pebble in his shoe, small but irritating. It gnawed on him because it didn't make sense, didn't fit into the _creepy bastard_ persona that Snape wanted him to believe.

As he rolled over to onto his side, Harry determined to find out sooner rather than later exactly what Snape's intentions were, but all details of those thoughts were lost as he found his way into a deep sleep.

.o.

.o.

.o.

At first, Harry wasn't sure what had woke him. For the first time since leaving Leonora's house he had found himself in a deep, natural sleep. Warm and comfortable, Harry burrowed into the bed further, hugging a pillow to his chest.

"That's unacceptable, Albus! "

Harry's eyes snapped open as Snape's raised voice drifted through the ajar door of the adjoining room. The defeat in the Potion Master's voice was unmistakable.

Turning over onto his side, Harry faced the threshold, straining to hear the words coming from the other bedroom.

"You promised that boy safety when he reached London, " Snape said with indignation. Harry could hear, even from this distance, the labored breath that followed, the horrible wheezing from the wounded man.

" Calm yourself, Severus, " Dumbledore tutted, "I know what was said. "

"Then how can you sit there and ask me to be calm!" Snape growled. "How do you think Potter will react when he hears this? That child is an imp. "

Harry straightened at the mention of his name. _Who's he calling imp?_

" I hope he will be understanding, Severus, as I hoped you would be," Dumbledore said.

The voices became muffled again, though Harry was wide awake and attentive to every word. He got up from bed, crept to the door, ear tilted toward the conversation.

" ...with Death Eaters hot on our heels- Headmaster, he would be much better off in someone else's care. "

"Are you certain of that?" Dumbledore asked. "I am not. "

" He did not listen to me. His stupidity could have gotten him killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, " Snape snarled, "and I was useless to stop it." The anger in his voice startled Harry as it was directed inward, not at Harry.

"But he wasn't killed- were you Harry? " Dumbledore suddenly looked towards the threshold of the room where Harry was standing.

Snape sat up in his bed, obviously annoyed. Dumbledore rested calmly in a chair beside him with a cup of tea in his hands. "What's happened?" Harry questioned stepping timidly into Snape's room.

"It's not polite to eavesdrop, " Snape retorted folding his arms.

"I wasn't eavesdropping, I _was_ sleeping until your bickering woke me up!" Harry snapped. He looked to Dumbledore for answers, though Harry wasn't sure how much he'd learn from the cryptic Headmaster.

"This can wait until morning, Harry, " Dumbledore said.

" I'll never be able to sleep if you don't tell me what's going on now. "

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "You cannot return to Hogwarts, Harry. "

"What? " Harry asked dumbly, grabbing the door frame for support. _Cannot return..._

"Not for a while at least," Dumbledore said quickly at Harry's ashen face. " I had hoped to bring you and Severus there at this meeting, but we've had a serious and unfortunate mishap. " He paused (for dramatic emphasis, no doubt). "The castle has been attacked and infiltrated by Death Eaters."

Snape turned sharply, his black eyes keen and penetrating scrutinized the Headmaster.

" How could that happen?" Harry whispered, feeling coldness spread throughout him at the thought of Voldemort's followers invading his home.

" To be quite honest, it's still unclear how the Death Eaters broke into the castle. "

" Unclear? " Snape said incredulously, his dark eyes flashing.

That seemed to be a lie, Harry could tell from the dubious look on Snape's face that he suspected the old Headmaster wasn't telling the truth, but Dumbledore was not inclined to elaborate further.

"No one was injured, thank Merlin, " he continued, "but the castle did retain some damages and the protective wards have been compromised. I cannot guarantee your safety until they are rewritten. "

"You can't guarantee my safety anywhere!" Harry said, his voice rising. " What does it matter if I'm in danger at Hogwarts or somewhere else? "

"The boy does have a point, " Snape interjected. "Let him go back with you to Hogwarts. I'll continue on my own. Bellatrix saw us together- she will tell others that we're traveling together which will give Potter some allowance-. "

" I have secured a place for both of you," Dumbledore said effectively silencing Snape, " where you will be safe, and can find some peace until Hogwarts is secure again."

"And where's that? " Harry asked with a frown.

"On a small, secluded farm, " Dumbledore answered, " in Ireland. "

"We're skipping the country!" Harry exclaimed.

"So it would seem, Mr. Potter, " Snape said quietly. He was either too tired or too angry to argue.

"It's quite beautiful there, Harry, " Dumbledore said gently. "You'll have more freedom there than you ever would here. "

"How long?" Harry asked.

"A month at least. "

"You can't make me do this, " Harry said, quiet anger forcing his hands into fists. "You have no right. "

And with that Harry stalked off, trying to put space between him and the Headmaster.

_That meddling, senile, old husk of a wizard!_ Harry thought furiously. Just who's _life_ was it anyway? Shouldn't he, Harry, have some say over his own life? He had the right to make his own decisions about what he did with it. He certainly was _not_ a child.

Dumbledore appeared at his door a few moments later, knocking gently to alert him to his presence.

" I know you are angry with me, Harry, but please hear me out, " he said, stepping into the room.

"I'm not going to Ireland, " Harry insisted. _Not with him._

"I hope we can talk about this. "

"It's not fair!" Harry exclaimed with all the maturity of a petulant child. " All I wanted was to live my life and now- I can't talk to my friends, I can't go to the one place I consider home, and I have to spend Merlin knows how long with a man who despises me. I'm being punished for crimes that are not my own! "

Dumbledore nodded calmly. "Yes, Harry, it _is_ unfair that this burden should fall on you. You will realize that these precautions are for your own protection-. "

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard that one before," Harry retorted. He knew he shouldn't sulk, but he couldn't help it.

" This is as much for your protection as it is for Professor Snape's," Dumbledore replied softly. "It's true that Severus is keeping an eye on you, but I know that you are watching out for him as well. "

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, beseeching him earnestly. "I should not like to add to the burden on your young shoulders, but Severus needs a safehaven, a place where he can recover without fear of retaliation. You could protect him, Harry- you could protect each other."

Harry noticed the great weight of guilt in his eyes as they silently pleaded with him to concede. Honestly, he hadn't really thought about it that way. Reflecting on the recent incident, it was clear to him that Snape had not fully recovered, and showed little signs of progress.

"I fear that if he should walk out that door alone it would be the last time we ever see him," Dumbledore pressed.

It was a low blow, appealing to Harry's Gryffindor sense of honor. Dumbledore knew it, and played to Harry's weakness- knew that his sense of honor wouldn't allow him to let anyone die if he could help them- even someone as nasty and vile as Snape.

"When do we leave? " Harry asked quietly, conceding defeat.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Dumbledore told Harry that he couldn't go downstairs for an early breakfast (or very late dinner), but he would have anything Harry would like brought up to the room. No one was supposed to know that the boy who lived was in London.

When a quick successions of knocks came at the door, Harry assumed that his meal had come, but when he opened the door he was more pleasantly surprised by Leonora.

"What are you doing here?" Harry said, " at this early hour, especially. "

"Dumbledore contacted me when you arrived, " she replied smiling. "Now give an old lady a hug, " she said, arms outstretched.

" It's good to see you," Harry said, returning her embrace. She was the warmth he needed right now.

" I couldn't let you go without a visit! " She said, holding Harry at arms length to get a good look at him. "How are you really? What happened since last I saw you? "

Harry didn't want to worry her, especially about Snape. "Oh, it was fine," he said casually.

She stared at him shrewdly over the tops of her glasses. "The three of you coddle me! I know by your reluctance to speak of it that it's been difficult. "

She leaned back a little, looking away. "He's still sick. He hides it so well, thinks he's fooling _me_. But I know as well as any mother would. Those who love him can see through his subtleties and unravel the truth that's hidden just beneath his somber exterior. "

Harry was conscience-stricken, knowing what Dumbledore had said. If Snape died, Leonora would lose the only son she'd ever known. He supposed he did owe Snape more than he would like to. He was so abrasive and caustic that it was nearly impossible to see the wounded man within.

" It's going to be tough, " Harry admitted. "We still don't get along. He's _impossible_. He never considers what I might feel or want. "

She smiled slightly. "He's not used to constant companionship. But he is good with his students." At the look he gave, she said, " He wouldn't be head of Slytherin house for so long if he wasn't."

"Well, he must be better with Slytherins than Gryffindors. "

Harry spilled forth his emotions, his anger at Snape and Dumbledore, and the overwhelming injustice of his situation. He hated how he had no control over his life, how it was run by others who thought they knew better than he did about his own life. He'd think this many times- he was a pawn in a chess game of wills between Dumbledore and Voldemort, not in control of his next move.

Leonora nodded, listing intently to Harry's concerns. She gave very sound advice. "You're in a very dangerous position. Keep your eyes open and head clear. Most importantly, take everything Severus says with a grain of salt. He's very proud. This sometimes makes him do or say things that seem callous. "

Checking her wrist watch, she sighed and said, " I must go now. There's just not enough time. Do take care, Harry. I want you home safe and sound, you hear? I know you have a lot on your young shoulders, more than any young man should have. If you ever need anything you can always come to me, Harry. "

" I will," he said earnestly.

She got up to leave. "I'll write you letters, muggle post, while you're away. "

" I would like that, " Harry replied, watching her go through Snape's room to say goodbye.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Dumbledore came with Harry's breakfast, and a package tucked under his arm.

"Are you packed and ready? " he asked, setting down the tray.

"Yes, not much to gather, " Harry said.

" You'll be leaving in an hour, before it's light out. To arrive there safely undetected you must travel through muggle connections. I've arranged for an automobile to bring you to the Ferry."

He turned to leave, but then stopped, raising a finger thoughtfully in the air.

"Why I almost forgot," he said. Dumbledore handed Harry a large bundle wrapped in brown paper and bound with twine. " Happy Birthday, Harry."

" Thank you," Harry replied, turning the package over.

"It's letters from your friends," he said. "There are some gifts as well, all waiting for you at Hogwarts. " Dumbledore left Harry to his letters.

He'd lost track of the days on the road with Snape. Tomorrow was his birthday. He'd turn sixteen.

He smiled a little at the thought of it. He'd nearly forgotten his own birthday, sweet sixteen no less. Maybe at sixteen he'd get some respect.

Hermoine's letter was on top. She'd written a lengthy report about her concerns for him and his safety after the dreadful news of Death Eater attacks. A smaller brown envelope was nesting within and Harry was delighted to find a magical compass on a chain inside.

It didn't point North, but to the direction of anyone who had charmed the compass to his or her presence. (Harry noted that Hermione was standing to the north east of him.) A meter let him know how close he was to the person, when it glowed bright you had found your target. You could also charm it to alert to your enemies, which Hermione thought would be most helpful with Death Eaters afoot.

Ron's letter was much shorter, though he was no less concerned. He told Harry of Fred and George's latest escapades with their joke shop and the newest invention height enhancing candy canes , which didn't make you taller so much as elastic-like. The effects didn't last too long, although once you stretched your limbs, they would not shrink back to normal size until the candy was out of your system, which had made for an interesting night. They hope to perfect it in time for Christmas.

It didn't sound like either Hermione or Ron knew of the company he was keeping, that is to say Professor Snape.

Harry really didn't want to go. Simply, he was afraid of leaving, it seemed too much like running away, like cowardice. Harry suspected that Snape felt that way too. Old Dumbledore was playing them off each other and it was working beautifully.

Harry spied Snape moving in the other room.

He rose slowly from the bed, unaware that he was being watched. He winced audibly, closing his eyes for a moment as he waited for the spike of pain to pass.

He wasn't well, and hadn't been for quite some time. It was obvious now, in the white moonlight, seeing his tall form stagger from the simple act of standing.

He was such a bastard. He lied without remorse. He manipulated to get his way. He was completely intolerant of anything that didn't suit him.

Then _why_ did Harry feel concern for him?

_He's always protected me_, Harry thought_, whether I realized it or not._

Snape was a decent man, despite all his barbs and bad choices, his integrity could not be overcast by his dark demeanor. _What did Leonora say... see through his subtleties and unravel the truth..._

Harry really did owe him at least to see him well again. If leaving England meant he'd get his strength back, then he'd do it.

Harry paid his debts.

_To be continued..._

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's Notes:

So I suppose I have some groveling to do as I haven't posted in the longest time... I'm sorry! It's been crazy lately. Thank you for being so patient. I am very sorry for the wait. I hope you enjoyed this chapter- it's a longer one.

VERY important note: I posted a Harry and Snape illustration on my webjournal. It's in the art gallery, find the link on the left handside, or look for the link in my latest post. I don't know if anyone has seen it. It's a little bit of things to come. Please take a look.

As always, feedback is appreciated (oh please let me know how I'm doing!). Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal!

They're both in my ff . net profile, see above.

Thanks everyone!

-Li


	12. Sotto Voce

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Twelve

.o.

.o.

.o.

Harry felt a deep sense of dread as he saw the truck pull up to the curb. It was a dilapidated pick up truck, so rusty and dingy that Harry could barely make out the original green paint beneath the corrosion. The back was nearly empty except for a few cardboard boxes and a gray tarp. That was surely where they were meant to be, in the back, like smuggled cargo.

_Great_, Harry thought dismally.

He'd hardly traveled anywhere, let alone out of the country. He was uneasy, as if he'd never see England again, which he knew was ridiculous. Somehow he felt he wouldn't be returning the same. It's just that he had a _bad_ feeling, a sense of foreboding spreading through him, like ink bleeding across wet parchment.

Snape moved slowly, not with pain, but with care as if he didn't trust his legs to get him from one side of the room to the window, where, once there, he pulled the curtains back from the glass. He didn't say anything- he didn't have to. Neither Harry nor Snape were thrilled about their situation, at least on that they could agree.

"And so it continues, " he whispered, before turning from the window.

.o.

.o.

.o.

"You have your books and your birthday cards and all your clothes?" Dumbledore asked kindly as he handed him his bag.

"Yes, " Harry said with a little smile. It reminded him of something Mrs. Weasley might say. He knew he had everything because he hadn't ever unpacked.

Snape glanced up from his task of checking through his sack for potion supplies. Though the action of shifting his gaze was subtle, Harry felt his perceptive and incisive eyes on him.

Harry forced himself not to look up, not to meet his black gaze. Was Snape staring at him because he thought it unlikely that Harry was all packed? Or was it because he had overlooked Harry's birthday? Snape was aware of the prophecy, _born as the seventh month dies_...

It didn't matter, not really. Only recently had anyone thought of Harry on his birthday, and this year it seemed that those who really mattered to Harry had remembered. He had their well wishes in his bag to prove it.

"The transport is waiting for you, " Dumbledore said, his blue eyes darting from Harry to Snape. He crossed the room to him, his hand extended, but then he hesitated just shy of touching Snape's arm, as if changing his mind about whether or not a touch would comfort or agitate him.

"Are you ready, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape nodded dropping his head ever so slightly. Though the gesture was small it exuded resignation. Harry felt uneasy watching him concede to Dumbledore uncharacteristically without question or comment.

"There's one final thing that must be discussed before you go, " he declared, standing a bit straighter. He waited to speak, however, until both Snape and Harry were looking at him.

"This is of the utmost importance. No magic," Dumbledore said sternly. "_None_. Not even a little bit. Once you have reached the ferry, all magic must stop. Under no circumstances are you to use even the slightest magic, or it will be akin to a beacon signaling your exact location. Only when you have reached the farm will you be able to safely use magic again, and even then you will have use every precaution. "

"No magic? " Harry asked. _Again?_ Harry thought, although to be fair they hadn't exactly followed it the first time.

He supposed that for someone like Snape, a wizard who'd presumably been one since birth, it was very difficult to suddenly _stop_ using magic altogether.

" This goes double for you, Severus," Dumbledore added.

Snape merely folded his arms indignantly. If he had any intention of following Dumbledore's edict, it could not be told from his demeanor.

"You know the risk has propagated, " Dumbledore said seriously. His peaked gaze carried significance that Harry did not understand.

"What's this then?" Harry asked, looking from Dumbledore to Snape.

"You might as well know, Potter," Snape began, "Bellatrix Lestrange escaped before the Aurors could get to her. "

" What? "

" She's presumably informed the Dark Lord's followers, who's eyes and ears are attentive for us at this very moment. "

A somber weight settled into his heart. Nothing was going right on his sixteenth birthday.

_Let's see_, he thought, _I'm about to leave the country in a rickety truck with a man who hates me, so that we can escape the horde of dark wizards who want to kill us. Oh yes, this is a banner day._

" Don't dwell on it, Harry, "Dumbledore said, perhaps noticing his expression as Harry was sure his emotions passed as freely as water across his face.

" If you need assistance- ," Dumbledore began.

" I know the proper channels," Snape interrupted. " I'll make sure Potter knows, too, lest he send a wayward owl and alert the entire wizarding world to our location. "

" Good luck," Dumbledore remarked with a sprightly twinkle in his eyes. "The truck is waiting. " And with that he ushered them from the Leaky Cauldron, into the dark morning.

.o.

.o.

.o.

For a summer night, it was awfully cold. There was a faint chill in the air and Harry pulled his jumper closer. He lay in the back of a pick up truck bed, staring into the dark sky. Fatigue pulled at his eyelids, but he was too riled up to find sleep.

The knowledge that Bellatrix Lestrange was still out on the loose reverberated through Harry's mind. That murderous old hag of a witch wouldn't rest until she found them, of that Voldemort would make sure.

"Do you see that?" Snape whispered suddenly.

Expecting the ride to go in silence (as Snape was not the talkative type), Harry turned his head to look at Snape, who laid next to him.

Black wizarding robes gone, he wore a blue button down shirt, the cuffs left open, and simple black trousers. Though the absence of his robes considerably diminished his physical intimidation, his presence was no less commanding.

Snape's eyes were fixed upward, at the twinkling sky and Harry was compelled to look.

" I can't make out anything, " Harry said squinting at the tiny stars scattered throughout the sky.

"Look there, " Snape said pointing above them. "See that star there?" Snape questioned.

Harry frowned. He saw _lots_ of stars, like salt spilled across a stretch of pavement. "I don't know which... "

" Polaris, _the North Star,_ " he clarified, his tone of voice suggesting that it should have been _obvious_ which star he meant.

Scowling to himself, Harry still couldn't make out which it was without the aid of a telescope. He expected Snape to belittle him for his negligence in astronomy, but that's not what happened.

Instead, Snape wordlessly leaned close. With arm outstretched, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, then raising his arm to the sky, he _touched_ the star. It shone brighter for a moment, then Snape moved his hand sideways drawing a line with his finger, connecting the stars with a line of light to form constellations.

"Now, you try it," Snape said, as the light drifted softly in the air like fairy dust.

Dumbledore's warning of strictly _no magic_ replayed through Harry's mind, but then _technically_ they hadn't reached the ferry yet, so _technically_ they were all right, still close enough to the wizarding world not to draw too much attention.

Harry frowned, though, nonetheless, " I don't know how."

Snape gave a short sigh and Harry expected a derisive comment. Perhaps it was because he was too tired to argue (it surely couldn't be because it was his _birthday_), but Snape was uncommonly patient with him.

" You're familiar with _flagrate_? " Snape asked.

"Yes," Harry said twisting to retrieve his wand from his bag.

Snape held up his hand and shook his head. " You don't need your wand, " Snape said. "Just-_just_ _concentrate_, " he said, " think about the light extending from within you through to your fingertips. _Softly_ like a celestial psalm, like... " But he couldn't explain it.

Harry nodded, but his face betrayed his confusion.

"You may say the word if it assists you," Snape replied with a small sigh.

With determination, Harry raised his hand and shouted, "_FLAGRATE! "_

" _Sotto voce,_ if you please, Mr. Potter, " Snape replied. "Shouting will not help you. "

Harry grinned sheepishly, "sorry. " It had come out louder than he expected.

"Try again," Snape insisted.

Harry had a hard time of it, trying unsuccessfully to produce even a flicker.

"Let the light _flow_ through you. Don't force it," Snape said. "You try too hard. "

And then, _and then_- a faint trace of light! Harry slowly moved his hand from left to right, creating a soft line of light.

"I did it," Harry whispered with satisfaction.

"Good, " Snape said. "Now, do it again."

They spent the better part of an hour drawing with light, until Harry could produce a soft glow with hardly any effort.

.o.

.o.

.o.

They were to take the first ferry out, from Swansea to Cork, which left the harbor at seven o'clock sharp. It was a little after six when the rusty, old truck rolled to a stop. Harry startled awake as the movement of the vehicle ceased.

" We're here," Harry said.

Snape's eyes opened slowly and he sat up gingerly, as if to ease his aching joints from the cramped hours of sleep.

" How very astute, " Snape returned unpleasantly.

_So we're back to scorn,_ Harry thought as he leaped to the ground from the truck's back. _That impromptu lesson must have been a fluke... or maybe it _was_ for my birthday._

Either way, it was no longer important. They had arrived at the port...

The air smelled of salt, felt grimy on his skin, thick like a wet towel. Harry wrinkled his nose stiffly. The water under the pier was an ominous gray brown from the kelp growing depths below the surface.

There she was, _The Island Queen_, the ferry sent to take them from England. It was only making a routine voyage, one it repeated probably three times a day, there and back again.

That this voyage was routine did nothing to lessen Harry's dread. Great white gulls circled overhead, squawking and snapping their beaks greedily.

_It should be too early for gulls,_ Harry thought.

Snape stood moodily, his hair blowing gently in the wind, his gaze somber. Harry did not envy him his thoughts, whatever apprehensions were forming such a bleak scowl across his sharp features.

"Take a last look, Potter, " he said. "It might be a good while before you gaze upon England again. "

_Don't be so dramatic_, Harry wanted to say. Instead he said, "We'll be back in a month. "

" We'll see, " Snape replied. " Let us board. "

So they did. They found seats below deck, where many muggles had herded in, getting morning cups of tea and coffee and perusing the daily newspaper.

The ship was large and utilitarian, with painted metal railings and timeworn wooden planks, not luxurious in any way, though accommodating enough for commuters and tourists alike.

Harry sat across from Snape at a narrow, rectangular table. Any conversational proficiency Snape had had in the truck was now gone. Harry decided it best to avoid starting conversation with him, as anything he said would most likely agitate.

Snape reached into his bag, rummaging through it, then extracted an enormous sum of muggle currency, and piled it on the table.

"Professor! " Harry said in a hushed shout. "That's a lot of money! "

" Is it?" he asked in a mocking tone. " I might not use it, but I am familiar with muggle currency. "

Then he handed it over to Harry. " You count it, " he said.

Harry sighed, doubting very much that Snape knew the value of the paper bills he held in his hands.

Whistling when he'd finished, as it was over 700 pounds, Harry whispered, "This is more money than I've ever held in my hands. "

Snape just looked at him as if to say _so what?_

Taking the money back, Snape shoved it deep in his bag. Then he held out a twenty pound bill. " Get something to eat if you like, " he said.

"Well, perhaps some tea, " Harry said, looking toward the food counter. "Thanks. I'll pay you back. "

Snape snorted, " It's not my money either. It is difficult to make a withdrawal and convert it to muggle currency when you're held hostage by a meddling old wizard. "

.o.

.o.

.o.

The ride turned out to be long and boring. He'd lost interest in the spell book Dumbledore had given him at the very start of their journey. Harry almost wished they'd get there already just to waylay his boredom.

"I'm going above, " Harry announced, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. Snape dismissed him with an absent wave as he leafed through a muggle newspaper.

Ascending above deck, the cold air a shock to Harry's face, he breathed in the salty scent of the sea.

The sky was overcast, one large indiscernible sheet of gray stretching as far as the eye could see.

The sea- there was something implicitly creepy about _this_ sea. It was not blue or even green, but a murky black in the cloudy dusk. These waters were dark, keeping their secrets locked beneath the inky depths.

Harry shivered as a cold feeling spread through his limbs. Glancing around he wondered if anyone else felt this cold, but nobody on deck seemed to be shivering.

Frowning, Harry thought how preternatural the air felt, like death breathing cold on the back of his neck. Harry shrugged it off, listening to the waves lashing against the side of the ship, which sounded almost like a somber lullaby.

In the distance he caught his first sight of Ireland, a brown mass on the horizon, elusive as the fog rolling in around it.

He leaned against the railing, determined to catch a better glimpse at the island that was to be his home for the duration of the summer. The sound of rushing water was hypnotic. A woman was singing with it, soft and low, an eerie melody...

"Careful, Potter. If you fall in I will not jump in after you. "

Harry spun around, clearly startled. Snape merely raised his eyebrows. "We're nearly there. "

It was amazing how he'd lost time listening to the sea. Nearly an hour had passed since he'd gone above deck.

" I heard a woman... she was singing, so yearnfully. "

Snape waited a beat, before stating, "I think the sea air has affected your brain."

" No, really, I heard someone," Harry insisted.

"An insanity plea should have been attempted _before_ we got on the ship. "

.o.

.o.

.o.

The ship docked without trouble into a misty port. Harry's knees buckled slightly as he stepped down the gang plank onto solid land. He didn't feel too embarrassed however, as the muggle couple in front of him also stumbled upon the dry land.

His green eyes roamed the sea port taking in his first close up look of Ireland. It was disappointing, really. It wasn't so different from the English port. He hadn't expected it to be so gray, though, green, but not overcast.

Harry followed the mass of people exiting the ferry over the wooden planks of the pier and onto the sand and seashell parking lot where some went to cars, others toward the city center where they could catch buses and trains.

" We'd best find our way, Potter," Snape said, " looks like rain. "

And they started off down the road less traveled as dark clouds slowly moved in overhead.

_To be continued..._

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Author's Notes:

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! This is going on one full year with this story, I can't believe it.

Thanks everyone for reviewing my story. I really look foward to hearing from you, so please keep the reviews coming (makes me grin like an idiot).

We've had some exciting news lately, haven't we? What, with Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince coming out on July 16... I've got a deadline now folks... try to get most of this story down before then. We'll see.

I'm really excited about chapter 13... I have some ideas shaping up. Stay tuned for updates at my webjournal.

As always, I hope to get the next chapter out sooner than later, but no promises.

Feedback is appreciated (oh please let me know how I'm doing!). Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal!

They're both in my ff . net profile, see above.

Thanks everyone!

-Li


	13. Flood, slowly become one with the mud

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Thirteen

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Rain had never felt heavier, Harry thought, as he trudged along the uneven way behind Snape. The farm was supposedly at the end of this road, but the route seemed to wend into forever along the Irish countryside.

The dirt path was now muddy and filled with treacherous rocks and stones that had sunken hazardously into the road, hiding amidst the muck and mire. On either side of them massive plains of overgrown grass stretched in every direction, upwards over hills and downward into valleys, though Harry could hear the dull roar of the ocean to his left so he knew they were still near the coast, even though he could not see it through the heavy rain.

Forgotten stone ruins dotted the landscape intermittently, and when Harry passed one he couldn't help but pause to survey the crumbling structure, despite his exhaustion. Snape, of course, had no tolerance for this and continued staunchly ahead so that Harry was forced to move on. Harry didn't know the way to the farm- for that matter, he wasn't sure that Snape knew the way either.

Naturally, the rain had begun not twenty minutes into their walking journey. Starting with small sprinkles, the rain had been more annoying than hindering. Then the sky had opened up, dark voluminous clouds filled to the breaking point burst apart suddenly, releasing a torrent of furious water upon them.

The words _no magic_ rang in Harry's ears.

It was absurd, really. A simple water repelling charm would easily keep them dry, but they couldn't even risk that small measure of magic. This was a remotely inhabited territory to begin with. Wizard activity in this area would be blatantly obvious to those searching for them. At this point Harry would have been grateful for some shelter, a small house where they could seek sanctuary or even cover under a tall tree (presently, Harry would have risked getting struck by a bolt of lightning if it meant being out of the rain for a few minutes), something-_anything_ to provide a reprieve from this deluge.

But there was no reprieve. They were on the lonesome road to nowhere. Rain pelted them, driving hard into their skulls like age-old water torture. Harry's limbs were cold and heavy, weighted down with water.

Gusts of wind blasted at them, sharpening the coldness the rain had left on their skin. Harry shivered as the wind picked up, pounding the rain into them at a new angle.

The road curved upward and they were forced to continue uphill as the indiscriminate rain fell upon them without remorse. Brown mud colored water ran in tiny rivulets down the inclined earth, splashing muck onto them as they trudged forward.

Harry tripped again and again, even Snape staggered in the mud, and each time it took more and more effort for Harry to rise and continue forward.

_Why is it so far?_ Harry thought as he pushed himself up,_ I thought Dumbledore mentioned it was within walking distance of the ferry.  
_  
He kept his eyes trained on Snape's black shape, for that was all he was to his dim, tired eyes, a blurry, black shape shifting in front of him...

Somewhere between realizing that he was incapable of feeling his limbs and was unable see straight, Harry decided that he couldn't take another step.

"_Snape_-," he managed to say before the world tilted and he lost his balance.

Snape spun around in time to seize Harry just shy of hitting the muddy earth.

"Potter!," Snape exclaimed supporting the near unconscious boy. " Merlin, you're freezing," he gasped as he clutched him by the shoulders.

"C-can't stop shaking, " he mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut. He went slack in Snape's grip, his energy finally giving out.

Harry was fading fast. His eye lids were heavy and his body was so cold that he could no longer feel it.

"Do _not_ fall asleep," Snape commanded, trying to right Harry onto his feet.

Harry couldn't have kept his eyes open even if he wanted to- even if his life depended on it, and decidedly, it did. He trembled uncontrollably, as his body tried futilely to regain its lost warmth.

"M'tired," Harry murmured. He sagged against Snape, a dead weight dragging them both down into the muddy road.

" Be that as it may, I still expect your undivided attention," Snape said quickly. He faltered for an instant unsure of exactly how to proceed. The trembling was beginning to subside, though Harry was as cold as ice, and Snape knew that was not a sign of improvement.

Snape suddenly made a noise of disgust and said, "How pathetic you are, Potter. "

Harry wanted to disagree, to put him in his place, but all he could manage was, "_mmmmm... "_

Consciousness slowly seeped from him, like the heat draining from his body.

" Letting a little rain get the better of you- I should have known that you'd be weak like your idiot father, " Snape said in a rush. "He never thought things through- always hotheaded and impulsive and _substandard_. Even when tormenting me it was always some _gutless_ scheme barely followed through with the help of that no good _dog_ Black-. "

"Not true," Harry mumbled in argument.

" Oh, no?" Snape sneered. "I think it is. It's no surprise to me that I am still here while they are not. "

"Shut _up_," Harry said fiercely. Anger pushed Harry out of his stupor, trickling heat into his brain, fueling his voice to rise heatedly. "My father and Sirius had more _honor_ than you'll _ever_ have, he said fiercely. Their good names should stick in your throat. "

Harry was sitting up now, shivering, eyes alert and full of rage, glaring with hatred at Snape.

"Welcome back among the living, " Snape said quietly.

" What?" Harry snapped, irritated. Snape had just said some nasty things about his father and he was what- _concerned_ suddenly?

If Harry hadn't been so provoked and fatigued, he might have concluded that Snape would have said anything to get him riled up- to make his adrenaline spike, to _wake_ him _up_. Sleep at this point would mean death.

"Can you stand? " Snape asked.

"Yes, of course I can- " he started shortly, but then teetered violently upon standing. His head felt like it was full of cotton. And he couldn't stop shaking.

Snape reached out to steady him, but Harry pulled away, obviously still angry at the unwarranted jeers from Snape.

"Then on your feet, Potter! " Snape snapped. "We'll need to find shelter to wait out the storm, " he said more calmly. "You'll have to walk. I'll help you if you let me."

Begrudgingly, Harry accepted Snape's aide, realizing that he would not be able to continue on his own.

They persisted on the road as it made no sense to wander off course when there were no signs of shelter for miles around.

Adrenaline faded fast, and Harry felt himself grow tired again. His eye lids drooped, becoming difficult to keep open.

.o.

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It became painfully clear to Snape that the boy was incapable of walking any farther, despite his verbal efforts to keep him awake and alert.

"M'sorry, " Harry slurred, " I can't... "

" Quiet," Snape growled in no mood for Harry's self reproach as the boy sagged against him.

Even to Snape's cold skin, having become frore from the unrelenting rain, Harry was without question extremely frigid.

Snape looked desperately around, wiping his wet hair away from his eyes as he searched the horizon for a place where they could find refuge.

There was nothing, no shelter Snape could take him to.

_Unless_...

His eyes fixed upon a ruin standing stubbornly amidst overgrown grass and shrubs. From this distance Snape wasn't even sure it was more than a single pillar of stacked stones, but it would have to do.

" Potter, we must walk a little way," he said, but Harry did not say anything. "You can _not_ fall asleep, " Snape said nudging the boy.

Harry was not listening to him.

"Potter!" Snape barked in his gruffest Potion's Master voice. Harry's eyes opened slowly at the sound, but they were unfocused and closed again without acknowledging Snape at all.

He slung Harry's arm across his shoulders and helped him to walk as he guided them to the rocky remains.

As they approached the structure, Snape analyzed it quickly, sweeping his eyes across what was left of a once magnificent tower of stone. Part of an archway persistently lingered, supported by two columns, wild ivy weaving thickly around the stone bricks. Though its stability remained to be seen, it would provide a welcome shelter from the assailing rain. Two walls met to form a corner, acting as a third support for the arch, and the foundation of a knocked down perimeter wall could still be made out in the tall grass.

Snape lifted Harry over the stone base and leaned him back against the corner. He was small for a boy his age, not very tall and possibly too thin. He could see now how prolonged exposure to weather conditions such as these would be damaging to Harry.

There really wasn't a choice, he realized. It was obvious that Harry was suffering from hypothermia, but how severe it was, he did not know. Snape suspected that he himself was slightly hypothermic.

" Potter, " Snape spoke softly to the near unconscious boy. "You're going into shock. You must get out of these wet clothes. "

Harry moaned softly, but did not respond otherwise.

This was _not_ good. He could not use magic here. They were in the most vulnerable position, and to risk magic here could mean their deaths. His own, Snape could abide by, but Harry's he could not. And so his hands were tied. Inaction would _certainly_ lead to death by hypothermia. Magic would _possibly_ lead the Death Eaters right to them.

With magic, Snape reasoned, there was at least a chance.

There actually was no way around it. He would have to use magic. Snape's own hands were shaking from the cold as he withdrew his wand.

A magical barrier would be necessary. This ruined structure barely had three walls. A barrier could not be created outside (not by one wizard anyway). It had to be given a physical limit, confined by four walls, a floor and a ceiling. Snape wondered if he could make the magic remember the dwelling as it had once been, to connect with its ghost. There was only one way to find out.

Snape raised his wand, drawing a cube in the air. He concentrated intently on the ruins, imagining what the structure ought to be, reconstructing it in his head in as exact detail as he could muster. Then with a quick swoop, he outstretched his arms wide and the cube expanded, encompassing the entire space, attaching itself to the walls as if it were a skin. The magic seemed to accept the space as fully contained, drafty and crumbling though it was.

A magical barricade was now in place, sealing the activities within from escaping. If Snape had done it right, to anyone searching for them, the formation of the barrier would only feel like a quick magical surge, nothing more magical than a breath of air.

Any magic performed within the barrier would be shielded from the outside world. It was only good for the short term, however, and lasted only as long as the conjurer could maintain it. It was very tiring, sustaining a magical barrier, which is why few wizards ever did it, and why only a few wizards actually could.

Snape swayed a little where he stood, feeling dizzy suddenly. The rain had also made him weak, and he knew that he would not be able to sustain the barrier for long.

With a flick of his wrist, he murmured a quick drying spell. His and Harry's clothes were instantly dry, but Harry's body was still shivering with cold.

For lack of anything else, Snape bundled Harry in his own cloak, which he'd packed in his bag, along with some other wizarding possessions.

Wizard or not, human bodies were very complex and fragile things. Snape knew that he had to warm the core first- heart, lungs, main arteries- allow the blood to warm and circulate through to the cold extremities. Slowly, ever slowly, one subjected to too much heat too quickly could sustain permanent damage.

Folding to his knees, Snape crawled into the corner space, pressing his back against the wall. He hissed slightly as he sat back. The stones that composed the tower wall were cold and slightly damp, but the earth he sat on was dry with heat locked into it.

" You're not going to like this, Potter, " Snape said aloud to the insensible boy, "but I assure you, it's merely to sustain your ungrateful life. "

Drawing Harry to him, Snape pulled him back against his chest, and wrapped his cape around both of them like a blanket. What little warmth they each had would be prolonged between the two of them.

Putting a delicate warming spell to his hands, Snape gently massaged warmth into Harry's shoulders, near his main arteries.

With the remaining strength that he had, Harry shied away from Snape's touch. Harry moaned again, breath sharp with pain, " _too hot_. "

" Shhh, " Snape hushed. "This will help you. "

Without further resistance, Harry sagged back against him, and Snape felt the violent tremors that ran through his body.

Anger coursed through him- he was angry with himself, angry with Dumbledore.

How utterly ridiculous. A very simple spell would have prevented all this. The magic that he possessed could make the rain itself tremble, but Snape knew the dangers of being caught by Death Eaters. He knew, perhaps better than anyone, the horrors in store for them were they to be captured. It would be better to let Harry die now from hypothermia, to spare him from days of complete torture, than allow the Dark Lord to get his hands into him.

Harry would not die, though, not from the Dark Lord or otherwise, Snape would see to that with his own life.

Snape felt the chill catching up to him, and was glad for an instant that Harry was unconscious, for had their positions been reversed, he knew that he would be lying face down in the mud somewhere dying from exposure.

Ever slowly, Snape felt the warmth build up between them. He grew drowsy from it. The magical barrier flickered as his concentration broke. He wouldn't be able to hold it in place for much longer.

Snape ceased the warming spell he'd placed on his own hands, a moment later releasing the barrier. The space seemed to flood with cold, however, the warmth between them remained intact.

Very gradually, Snape felt the tremors stop and Harry relaxed in his warm embrace.

" Still with me, Potter? " Snape asked softly.

"Mmmmhhhmmmm," Harry mumbled.

A faint smiled tugged at Snape's lips. He was as exhausted as Harry who was nearly asleep.

Taking this opportunity, Snape studied him carefully.

The boy had almost died and not from a hex, but his own carelessness. Snape couldn't allow something like this to happen again. Asleep, Harry looked vulnerable, very young and innocent.

_Too young to defeat the Dark Lord,_ Snape thought.

The savior of the wizarding world was a sixteen year old boy. Was he strong enough? Did he possess the cunning to match wits with the Dark Lord? In truth, Harry had faced off against Voldemort more times than any wizard alive. If this boy truly was the only one who could defeat the Dark Lord then Snape had to do better.

This worry surfaced in his mind as he drifted off to sleep...

_To be continued..._

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Author's Notes:

This was a nice long chapter for ya. I know that I switched point of view's on you for a few paragraphs, but what fun would it be to have Harry black out and that be the end of it? No fun at all!

Thanks everyone for reviewing my story. I really look forward to hearing from you, so please keep the reviews coming. I've had some real encouragement that I desperately needed, thank you, thank you, thank you!

Stay tuned for updates at my webjournal. I'm serious! Some Harry/Snape artwork might be the next update (before chapter 14) and so you'll have to check my webjournal if you're interested in seeing that. Bravejournal is actually pretty good- I wish more people had it. I really don't like LJ all that much. shrugs

As always, I hope to get the next chapter out sooner than later, but no promises (once a month seems to be my average).

Feedback is appreciated (oh please let me know how I'm doing!). Want to discuss? e-mail me please or visit my webjournal!

They're both in my ff . net profile, see above.

Thanks everyone!

-Li


	14. better living through magic

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Fourteen

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.o.

A thick fog blanketed Harry in his dreams, fire and ice pooled together forming thick brume that wafted in and around him, hot and cold at the same time. Warmth spread through him, and he felt curiously safe and comfortable. Somehow, he knew it was odd that he felt so content, but in his drowsy, languid state, he didn't give the notion much consideration. Breathing deeply, he fell further into sleep.

Then suddenly the dream changed.

Everything was bleached vidid white and blue, like on old photograph discolored from years of exposure to the sun. Blurry shapes swayed around him, the walls warping out of shape. He couldn't see clearly, his eyes refusing to focus on anything around him.

Racing down a narrow corridor, he heard the ominous cadence of dual metronomes, pounding the beat out of sync with each other, _thump-thump, thump-thump,_ as the close set walls moved in on him. The stones beneath his feet were shifting, dropping out as he ran...

Harry bolted upright, catching a shocking breath of cold air. He gazed wildly around the unfamiliar surroundings, his eyes shocked from the bright white dream, not yet acquainted with the dim, dull lighting of reality.

Harry did not remember how he had come to be inside a deserted ruin. Wrapped in what had to be Snape's black cloak, Harry twisted around, and leaning asleep against the wall behind him was the Potion's Master himself.

At that moment Snape opened his dark eyes and they focused sharply on Harry.

" Potter, " Snape said quietly. A strange expression creased his features, but then his eyes hardened back into the familiar black gaze.

" Have you come back to your senses? " he asked with a trace of irritation.

"What?" Harry blurted. " I guess- but what- how-. "

"Stop sputtering," Snape commanded. "Calm down," he added, his voice dropping back to a whisper. " Do you remember collapsing on the road? "

" No- I, " but Harry stopped to think about it. The last thing he could remember clearly, was his sense of dread as the ship came into port. He had vague impressions of trudging up a muddy path, but most everything after that was nonexistent.

Remembering only those few bits of it he finally replied, "I was very cold and so very tired."

"You were hypothermic, Potter, " Snape said, "The cold nearly killed you."

" But- it's summer-," Harry began.

Snape snorted with disgust. "That hardly matters," he said. "Think about the conditions to which you were exposed. "

Harry blinked. "Well, I suppose. But _you_ didn't-. "

" _I_ am not a dim witted sixteen year old boy who does not know how to dress himself properly when traveling," Snape ground out.

An angry blush rose to Harry's cheeks and he almost blurted out that Snape had not exactly been prepared for the weather either, but something kept his voice in check.

He was suddenly very aware of how close he was to Snape, practically in his lap. Standing unsteadily, feigning as if to stretch his legs, Harry put several steps distance between them, a flush of embarrassment restaining his face.

Perhaps it was because Snape himself was such an intensely private man that Harry felt guilty about invading his personal space. Snape had rarely ever touched Harry. Only when circumstances were dire did he ever lay a hand on him. Like that time Snape had caught him with his thoughts in Dumbledore's Pensieve- that was the most physical harm Snape had ever inflicted on him, and even then Harry had only been knocked to the ground.

Not wanting to fight with Snape, he asked, " What do we do now? "

Pulling himself to his feet, Snape stretched gingerly while he stood. Harry guessed that it mustn't have been very comfortable pressed against the stone wall with his dead weight against him.

Snape's dark eyes shifted to look through the open archway behind Harry, gazing at the white sky.

The rain had stopped- but that assessment was not quite accurate to Harry.

_Paused_, was more like it, he thought eyeing the gray rolling across the white overcast sky.

They made their way back to the road (if you could call it a road), though the soft mud made for less than exemplary walking conditions. Indeed, Harry's feet sunk into the mud, suctioned in place with each step so that he had to wrench his feet from the earth with extreme force.

As it turned out, Snape didn't have a real map, but a piece of parchment with Dumbledore's instructions on it and small series of lines that were supposed to illustrate the way to the farm. It was a wonder that Snape had managed to navigate them this far.

" We're right here, " Snape said pointing to a dark splotch on on the small bit of parchment. The ink had now run in smeary lines across the paper. " At least I think we are, " he muttered under his breath.

"Which way are we supposed to go?" Harry said, tilting his head to read the scribbled instructions.

" West," Snape said curtly.

" Well, which way is that?" Harry asked with a bit of impertinence.

Reaching for his wand, Snape gave a small sigh of annoyance as he remembered that they were prohibited from using magic, a function so involuntary that it was akin to breathing or a beating heart.

Harry wondered, not for the first time, how many times Snape had reached for his wand on this journey, only to have to relinquish it unused.

The sun was not visible through the thick clouds, and so Snape replied with exasperation, "The shore should always be to our left. "

Harry did not argue, nor did he ask how Snape was so certain that the ocean was to the south. He followed him quietly up the road.

How hard was it for Snape to restrain himself from using magic? It was a challenge for Harry, who had only been a practicing wizard for five years. How was it for someone like Snape, who had been born into magic?

A horrific thought occurred to him. How _had_ Snape dealt with his sudden collapse? _The cold nearly killed you_, he had said. How had Harry gone from the brink of death to perfectly healthy in only a few hours?  
_  
Magic_, Harry thought dismayed. Maybe it was too late. Maybe Snape had had no choice but to use magic to save him, and now Voldemort and his Death Eaters would know where they were.

"Professor?" Harry ventured after a bit of walking, apprehension keeping his voice low. "You... you used magic to help me recover? "

Snape didn't falter, but the slight twitch in his features told Harry that his thoughts had settled on this too.

"Only a little," he admitted. "Only a barrier and a heat charm. "

" But won't that be enough for them to find us?" Harry whispered, his stomach twisting. _All the preparations thrown away because I couldn't handle the cold. _

Snape was quiet for a moment before answering. "I don't think so," he replied, but it was obvious that he wasn't absolutely sure. " The nature of a barrier is such that it prevents others from detecting magic and its various applications. The barrier itself is magic, therefore, seemingly a paradox. If done correctly, however, it only surges for an instant, disguising itself among the earth's inherent magical properties. "

Harry nodded absently, but still wasn't entirely convinced.

"There is magic everywhere, Potter, even in the places muggles inhabit," Snape explained softly. "Locked within things that predate modern man- the earth itself is infused with magic. "

"So to anyone looking for magic among muggle communities, this barrier wouldn't be obvious? "

"That's right," Snape said. " A pixie flying into a tree would likely raise more suspicion than a magical barrier. "

.o.

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Continuing on their way, Harry felt lighter in step, his relief evident. He listened easily as Snape explained that a squib couple owned the farm where they were to stay until Dumbledore deemed it safe for them to return to Hogwarts.

The couple had had a difficult time in the wizarding community, especially during Voldemort's first reign, when prejudice of non magical people was particularly high. Apparently, Dumbledore had seen to it that their transition from the wizard to the muggle world went smoothly, a favor for which they were eternally grateful. To repay him for the kindness Dumbledore had shown them, they agreed to refuge Harry and Snape for as long as was necessary.

Willem and Mary Brennon expected them today.

.o.

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.o.

As the temperature rose, a thick, dense fog filtered in and out, allowing Harry to see only an arms length in front of him. The gray white mist swirled as he walked through it.

Snape was only just ahead, but his tall, dark form wove tenuously in and out of Harry's view. Concentrating resolutely on Snape's form, he yelped in surprise as he stumbled over something unseen in the fog.

Harry went down, disappearing under the blanket of fog.

"Potter!" Snape exclaimed whirling around, wand at the ready, his dark eyes sharp and his ears keen for the sound of a struggle.

A scared sheep darted around Snape, running ahead of him.

"Potter?" Snape questioned again, somewhat amused. " Did you just _trip_ over a _sheep_? "

Harry popped up from the ground, a lop sided grin stretched across his face. "Maybe," he said, brushing the dirt from his knees.

Snape snorted, rolling his eyes. " Look, he said stopping. We're here. "

.o.

.o.

.o.

Mr. Brennon was a short but solid man with tufts of gray hair protruding from either side of his cap. His ruddy face was lined with years of hard, physical work. He looked gruff, no-nonsense, his demeanor reminding Harry of Mad Eye Moody, but there was a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes.

"Hullo there," he said. " You must be Mr. Snape and Mr. Potter. We expected you this morning. "

" We were delayed due to the weather," Snape said crisply.

"Expected as much, " Mr. Brennon said with an understanding nod. "Well, I'll show you where you'll be staying. "

They continued up the dirt path, a farm house with peeling paint and a porch, at the door stood a woman wiping her hands on a dish rag. Mrs. Brennon was old and wizened, her features twisted into an unpleasant expression. She watched Harry, watching her. She did not smile. With a shake of her head, she returned to the shadows. She was obviously not happy to have the pair of them on the farm.

"You'll have to excuse my wife," Mr. Brennon said. " Her last encounter with wizards was not a pleasant one. " He glanced up at Snape, who remained impassive. Mr. Brennon cleared his throat then continued to lead the way.

They were led past a large paddock where many sheep were corralled, grazing on thistles and grass, even further past was a barn that had seen better days, housing old farm equipment and sheltered the sheep when it got too cold outside.

"You're a sheep farmer? " Harry asked. Mr. Brennon fixed him with an even stare as if determining whether he was making fun or not. Deciding that his inquiry was genuine, he said with a slight smile, "That's right Mr. Potter. "

Behind the barn was a stone cottage with a thatched roof.

"Here's where you'll be staying. It used to be the farmhouse, now it's ground keeper's quarters. Have hadn't had one in ten years."

It was more of a glorified shed than a cottage, Harry thought dismally.

Snape opened the door, looking in before entering. "There are wards in place," Snape breathed quietly.

Harry didn't know how he knew, but was glad of it. "We can use magic, then. "

"So it would seem, " Snape said, striding into the cottage.

As Harry walked in behind him, he noticed a fireplace and hearth to his right with an arm chair and hassock set about it. Directly across from the door was a large window and bench, with a folding screen. To his left was the rest of the cottage, a small kitchen table with two chairs and a sink, but no stove. A bathroom was off the kitchen next to a storage space, and across from it was a small bedroom.

The dwelling was sparse, utilitarian, but would be acceptable for a month's stay.

He glanced at Snape, who was looking around with disdain and Harry thought he heard him mutter something about muggle accommodations under his breath.

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It soon became clear why Snape had been so generous with the allotting of rooms. The bedroom was marginally larger than his cupboard under the stairs at number four privet drive. Although it did have a window, small though it was.

Snape had transfigured the folding screen into a wall and door for his own makeshift bedroom, also transfigured the bench under the window into a bed.

Harry mostly kept to his side of the cottage. Snape was unapproachable, tense, obviously not accustomed to constant companionship. Harry, who had not given much thought to the personal lives of his teachers, suddenly found himself wondering what kind of life Snape had outside of the classroom.

_Death Eater, spy for the Order..._ That was all Harry could come up with, and these were more like second and third jobs rather than personal endeavors.

Where did he stay over the summer months? Did he have family? From what Leonora had told him, it sounded like his family was not welcoming to say the least. Did he spend most of his time _alone_?

Harry frowned thinking of the utter silence that must fill Snape's days. These were not thoughts that Harry had counted on.

Their close quarters ensured that they saw each other everyday. While there was nothing the other could do about it, it still took a while to become used to the idea- Harry's most hated teacher, and Snape's most despised student together indefinitely for the rest of the summer.

Surprising thought it was, Harry found something at the farm he never dreamed he would- _freedom_.

Snape, it seemed, wanted as much space from Harry as Harry wanted from him- and he gave it readily. Those first few days Harry was free to explore the farm as long as he did not leave it. The 600 acres proved to be more than enough space. The farm was so vast that sometimes Harry thought he had left it, only to see the low stone fence corralling him in.

On days when the weather permitted, Harry spent them outside coming back only because the sun had set and his hunger forced him to.

The Brennon's provided food for them, which Mr. Brennon brought to them, and Snape sent Harry to the farm house in the morning with scourgified dishes.

The time away from each other during the day proved to be just what was needed. They tolerated each other more easily, in fact Harry did not mind sitting at the kitchen table in the evenings reading, while Snape sat by the fire doing the same.

Harry knew not how Snape spent his days, nor did he care. So when the fifth evening at the farm came, and Harry was thumbing through a copy of Oliver Twist , one of the many muggle classics that lined the bookshelf, he was not as upset as he might have been when Snape stopped in his doorway, leaning casually against the post, arms folded and said, " Potter, the Headmaster has asked me to school you in various forms of magic while we are here."

He paused a beat, " He wishes us to resume your occulmency lessons. "

To be continued...

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Author's notes:

All I can say is thank you for waiting.

Feedback will be cherished.


	15. Learning through different channels

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

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Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Fifteen

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Trees shook gently in the summer breeze, a dog's distant bark echoed across the farm as it chased the bleating sheep back into the paddock. Harry marveled at how loud these noises suddenly became when he was trying to block out the acerbic sound of Professor Snape's voice.

"Occlumency, " Harry said at last, the word leaving a stale taste in his mouth as it dredged up unpleasant memories with it.

For an instant, it was as if no time had passed between their last occlumency lesson and this moment, the resentment that Harry and Snape held for each other shining brightly in their eyes. Obviously neither were thrilled about resuming occlumency.

But then Snape unfolded his arms, shifting in the doorway, a soft sigh of impatience escaping his lips before he replied, "However, I think it best that you start with magic that will be too dangerous to teach you at Hogwarts."

Harry's eye brows shot up. " Dangerous?" he asked a bit skeptically.

" Any magic that is unauthorized by the ministry is dangerous to teach at Hogwarts, " Snape said. "The magic I will be showing you is ancient, mostly out of practice, and in some countries, entirely illegal. "

"You think that's best?" Harry wondered aloud.

" No," Snape retorted, "but the Headmaster has requested it. "

"But why? " Harry blurted out, still unable to grasp that Dumbledore wanted him to learn _unlawful_ magic.

"_Think_, Potter. Obviously the Headmaster wants to arm with the same weapons that the Dark Lord will draw upon. To prepare you, to make you stronger... " If there was more to that thought, Snape did not profess it.

Instead he entered into what Harry would call "teacher mode" , clearly falling into a habit of stating syllabus and intent.

" We will start with creating a magical barrier, for I will not be able to cast it everyday, and it will be advantageous for you to learn it. "

Harry nodded distractedly, thinking about the types of things someone like Severus Snape could teach him.

Maybe there was a valid reason why Dumbledore kept Snape on payroll. The collected information that he must know from years of service as a Death Eater was invaluable. Snape knew in no uncertain terms exactly what Voldemort was capable of.

For that matter, what was _Snape_ capable of? What kinds of horrible things had he done in Voldemort's name? He was a font of magical knowledge, his almost abnormal comprehension of most subjects gave him his infamous sneering superiority against which he judged all who befell him. The combination of the arduous study of Potions, which branched out into several areas of magic, and tutelage under both Voldemort and Dumbledore had made Snape the powerful wizard he was today.

" Tomorrow afternoon we will begin, " Snape said breaking Harry's train of thought. " Unless you have objections? "

" No," Harry said, hastily dismissing the wayward thoughts. While he wasn't thrilled with the prospect of informal lessons with Snape, he also had to admit that the idea of practicing magic again appealed to him.

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The next day came with a combination of fear and excitement.

As part of Harry's morning ritual, he brought clean dishes from the previous evening's dinner up to the farm house to Mrs. Brennon. This deceivingly simple act made him extremely uneasy. Aside from the fact that Snape probably thought the task beneath him, he most likely had Harry make the daily jaunt because if Harry's presence made Mrs. Brennon querulous, then Snape's austere demeanor was apt to push her over the edge.

It was an understood fact that Mrs. Brennon did not like wizards. Her apparent anger was twisted around a carefully hidden fear whenever Harry or Snape came within view.

While she never said more than a polite word to Harry, it was obvious that she disliked him, her resentment communicated tacitly with a tilt of her head. She could have given lessons to Snape in the art of silent loathing.

This morning, as Harry trudged up toward the farmhouse with scurgified dishes in tow, he was more preoccupied than usual. His thoughts centered firmly on his upcoming afternoon lesson with Snape, Harry did not particularly pay much attention to what he was doing or where he was going.

While things were far from great, Harry didn't want the tenuous equilibrium he and Snape had managed to establish to be thrown off kilter. What seemed to work best for them was minimal contact with each other for most of the day, and then converging silently during the evening hours back at the cottage.

As Harry knocked against the back door of the farm house, he brooded over the fact that he would be forced to have direct contact with Snape, instead of frittering away the summer outdoors in the sunshine as far away from the Potion's Master as possible.

The back door swayed open, creaking just slightly on its rusted hinges. Harry peered inside, light spilling across the worn kitchen floor as he gently pushed the door in fully.

" Ah... Mrs. Brennon?" Harry called tentatively. He didn't see her in the kitchen, like she usually was every morning when he came to return her dishes. She always met him at the door, never allowing him to step foot under the lintel.

He felt funny about coming into the house uninvited, but he wasn't going to stand outside all day holding a set of dishes.

_I'll just put the dishes on the table and leave_, Harry thought. Entering the cottage in three strides, he set the dishes on the wooden table, turned on his heel to leave, when he glanced at the spice rack along the kitchen window.

Lining the shelf were jars upon jars of honey, shimmering gold in the morning light. The sight was actually quite beautiful the way the light filtered through the amber substance, and so unexpected that it caused Harry to pause. The tops of each jar were hand sealed consisting of various colors, mostly red and blue, but Harry noticed a stark black lid along the top row.

It was at this moment that Mrs. Brennon reentered the kitchen. She was holding a large platter, turning it over in her hands, wiping it clean with a dish towel. Glimpsing up, she caught Harry standing in her kitchen staring at her honey jars.

She shrieked loudly, dropping the platter. It crashed to the floor splintering into un-fixable pieces.

" Mrs. Brennon!" Harry exclaimed, jumping at her explosive reaction.

"What are you doing in here?" She demanded when finally finding her speaking voice. "Get out! "

" I-I was just returning your dishes, " Harry explained. "The door was open, and I thought-."

"I know what you thought, " she interrupted. "Now, out- out!" She bent to pick up the broken platter.

I"'m sorry about the plate, " Harry said, moving forward. "I'll help you clean it up. "

" I don't want _your kind_ of help, " Mrs. Brennon hissed vehemently. " Just get out of my house. "

Taken aback, Harry back pedaled out of the house, and down the walk until he'd put a good sized distance between himself and Mrs. Brennon.

The way she had reacted to him, made Harry feel ashamed of himself. There was something so terribly wrong with him that she couldn't stand to have him set foot in her house. The wrong being his magic. It was ironic really. Mrs. Brennon, a squib, a women who had grown up around wizards, bestowed upon him the same bias that she had most likely been shown.

Harry had never really wondered what a squib's life was like. Certainly he he'd heard talk of prejudice against them, even parents who were ashamed of their non magical offspring. Could Mrs. Brennon's experience have been so horrible that she treated all wizards with scorn and suspicion? It certainly seemed that way. The same could not be said for Mr. Brennon, who had taken an immediate like to Harry.

Obviously whatever Dumbledore had done to help the Brennon's was great enough for Mr. Brennon to insist that they help them against the wishes of his wife.

"What happened?" Snape asked as Harry entered the small cottage. He didn't look up from his book or pause in the notes he was taking.

"Nothing happened, " Harry said quickly. He didn't want to report his every _faux pas _to Snape.

Snape didn't say anything, but raised his eyebrows slightly.

" What?" Harry asked becoming annoyed. "Why do you think something happened? "

"Usually, you don't come back after you deliver the dishes. You galavant about the property until it gets dark," Snape said matter of factly as his quill moved back and forth across the parchment. " Surely you haven't returned to spend some quality time with me. "

"Fat chance that," Harry grumbled, scowling at the very slight simper he saw twitching on Snape's lips.

In truth, he had been unsettled by Mrs. Brennon's outburst, especially when he'd only been trying to help. Going back to the cottage had been a reflex, an unconscious action, perhaps seeking some semblance of stability which Snape undoubtedly had become in Harry's recent life.

Suddenly closing his book, Snape finally looked up at him. " Since you are here, let us start now," he said, gesturing for Harry to sit in the chair opposite him.

A memory flashed of the two of them in similar positions, Harry facing Snape across the desk in his office. Harry pulled back the chair and sat down sullenly.

"As I said yesterday, we are to begin with the study and application of a magical barrier, " Snape started. "What do you know about magical barriers? "

Harry shrugged. "Nothing really, just what you explained about it the other day. "

"A barrier seals magic within a confined space which prevents flux and detection of the magic performed interior to the barrier, " Snape explained. " Why would one use a barrier? "

"Well, if someone was doing something that he didn't want anyone to know about, something illegal, " Harry replied.

"Yes," Snape said, his dark eyes fixed on Harry. "Why else? "

" Um... " Harry really didn't care to be lectured during his summer vacation.

" Come on, Potter, even you can think of another reason, " Snape retorted. But he didn't give him time to answer. "For protection of the wizard and those around him. Certain spells can be explosive and unpredictable. A barrier keeps the magic contained. "

Harry nodded. He knew that, figured as much, should have answered, but for some reason his brain ceased to function at full capacity when Snape was around.

"You created a barrier, " Harry said, " to protect us _and_ to perform some illegal magic. "

"The magic I performed within the barrier was _not_ illicit even if the barrier itself was, " Snape replied.

"A magical barrier is against wizard law? " Harry asked.

"_Yes_," Snape hissed. "If it wasn't then wizards and witches could perform any kind of magic they pleased undetected, including unforgivable curses. "

"I didn't know," Harry said quietly. "Must be difficult or else everyone would do it. "

"It is," Snape affirmed. " It's also rather old magic that most wizards no longer know how to perform. "

"How did you learn?" Harry asked.

"That is of no consequence to you, " Snape retorted.

"Sorry I asked," Harry muttered. He should have known better than to ask Snape anything even remotely personal. "It's sort of like a ward, isn't it? " Harry spoke up, changing the subject.

"What is the difference, Mr. Potter, " Snape asked coolly, "between a ward and a barrier? "

" Well... a ward doesn't have to be sustained by the wizard, " Harry said, looking at Snape for acceptance of this answer. He nodded, but Harry could tell that he expected more. " A barrier is something that one wizard can do... doesn't warding require several wizards? "

"Is that a statement or a question?" Snape returned gruffly. "Be assertive when you answer. Indecision will get you killed. "

That last comment was out of the blue, and grounded Harry immediately. Snape was not going to waste his time. He was sitting there across from him on Dumbledore's orders, not of his own volition, and was there to arm him with enough magical knowledge to defend himself against Voldemort. Not only that... Harry would have to kill Voldemort or be killed himself.

"I don't know what the differences are, Professor, " Harry said finally, making sure that his voice was clear and pointed.

Snape gave a disappointed sigh, then stood suddenly. " It depends on the size of what needs warding, and the skill of the wizard, but usually a ward does require more than one wizard to set in place. "

Wand out, he walked around the table to Harry's side, and Harry felt a thrill of nervousness.

"Since you were unconscious last time, I will show you how to create a magical barrier, " he said striding to the open area of the room. "Pay attention. I will not do this more than once. "

Harry twisted in his seat to watch him, afraid that if the magic was too subtle he would miss it.

"A barrier can not be created outside. It must be given a physical limit, confined by four walls, a floor and a ceiling, " Snape prefaced, then closed his eyes and whispered the incantation.

Raising his wand in the air, Snape flicked his wrist quickly, forming a square. He paused a moment, then flung his arms apart and the square expanded into a cube that suddenly rushed to fit the walls of the small cottage.

Harry gasped as he felt the rush of magic sweep harmlessly through him. It was warm and tingled pleasantly. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that hadn't been it.

For a spell that had to be sustained, it didn't look like it took much from Snape.

"What does it feel like?" Harry asked. " That is, how can you maintain it, yet focus on casting other spells? "

What Harry had come to realize was an amused look passed across Snape's face. He smiled ever so slightly, almost pleased, "It takes some effort at first, but soon you'll learn to place it in the back of your mind. "

Harry frowned, his worry creasing his brow.

"How can you fly your broom and catch the snitch at the same time? " Snape asked.

Harry brightened. "Well, that's easy. It comes naturally, really. "

"It didn't always," Snape said quickly. "You learned to fly on a broomstick. You learned to play Quidditch, to be a seeker. Now you do the two together seamlessly."

That was nearly a compliment.

Suddenly, Snape released the barrier. Harry felt the same warm sensation pass through him as the barrier reversed back towards Snape, then dissipated.

"Now it's your turn, Potter," Snape said, gesturing for him to stand.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stood. He raised his wand in the same manner that Snape had.

" Concentrate, "Snape commanded. "Think about what you want to do. _Now_, begin. "

For a first attempt it wasn't half bad. Harry was surprised at how heavy the magic felt as he drew a square in the air. It took extra concentration to lift his wand. He could only conjure the barrier for a few minutes, and it wasn't even close to protecting the entire space, but he had done it. Exaltation coursed through Harry at his triumphant first try.

"That was _adequate_ for a first try, " Snape said with moderate approval. "Try again. "

These would be two words that Harry would come to despise. Harry tried again. He was tired and he tried again. His head was pounding and he tried again, and again and again and again.

By the time Snape said enough for today , Harry could create a barrier large enough to fit the entire room, which he could maintain for at least five minutes.

"We'll continue tomorrow afternoon, " Snape said, settling into his usual chair by the fire. His voice was low and devoid of emotion.

"Need some air," Harry mumbled taking off for the door. He should have been ecstatic to have survived his first session with Snape unscathed and actually doing well. Instead, he felt drained and a bit angry.

It was a brilliant summer day, the air had a warm caress and the lush green grass that Harry trod upon bent gently in the breeze, licking at his ankles.

Harry plopped down at a random spot on the field, and lay back, basking in the warm sunshine. He tried to calm the storm that was brewing within. The lesson had gone well, yet Harry felt anger ebbing his insides.

The skill he had demonstrated while creating a magical barrier was leaps and bounds over any performance he had ever given Snape in Potion's class or during Occlumency lessons, but the Potion's Master was not impressed.

Well, what _had_ Harry expected Snape to do? Pat him on the back and say Well done, Ace! ? If Harry was waiting for Snape to praise him, then he'd be waiting until the sky fell down and the earth turned to dust.

Why was he seeking Snape's approval? Why did his approval suddenly mean something to Harry?

_I want his respect_, Harry thought suddenly. As much as he wanted to deny it, Harry knew he couldn't. When had this happened? He realized that somehow during this crazy summer he had come to respect Snape and in turn sought his regard.

It wasn't a lot of respect that Harry held for Snape, but enough to make Harry uncomfortably aware of it.

The sound of a barking dog interrupted Harry's thoughts. He glanced up from where he lay and saw Ajax, the Brennon's black and white border collie bounding towards him. Harry sat up just in time before Ajax pounced playfully on him, licking his face.

"Hey, Ajax, " Harry said with a laugh as he gently pushed the dog back. "How are you today? "

He spoke to the dog as if he was a friend... as if he was Sirius.

The dog barked happily in response and ran around him in circles before settling down against Harry's leg. Ajax had taken an immediate like of Harry, and was a very sweet and loyal dog.

At least one of us is happy, Harry said as he scratched the fur at Ajax's neck. He noticed Mr. Brennon approaching them slowly, the older man favoring his cane today.

" Hullo there, Harry, " he said when he arrived. " Looks like Ajax made a new friend. "

Harry smiled and said, "Yes. He's an awfully sweet dog. "

" He's sweet to you, but make no mistake, he can be very aggressive. Ajax can spot a threat from halfway across the farm. Got real good intuition for a dog, he has," Mr. Brennon replied.

Silence lapsed between them, and Harry felt obligated to say something about the exchange he'd had with Mrs. Brennon in the farmhouse kitchen.

" ...about this morning," Harry began, intent on explaining the situation to Mr. Brennon.

"Harry, you don't have to explain," Mr. Brennon broke in. " I know how my Mary is. She doesn't like wizards much. "

"Yeah, I got that," Harry said dully.

"In the time when You Know Who was terrorizing the wizarding world, there wasn't a place for squibs. We had a rough time of it and Mary has never forgotten it. When she looks at you, all she sees is the hardship she suffered, " Mr. Brennon explained.

Harry knew there was more to this story, but he did not pry. Instead he asked, "Why did you agree to help us if your wife doesn't want us here?"

A deep sigh escaped him and he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck before explaining, "Dumbledore helped me a long time ago and I will never forget it. I owe him a lot. Those kind of debts can't be forgotten or ignored. "

It sounded like something he'd rehearsed, probably saying those very words to Mrs. Brennon when he told her that he had agree to harbor two wizards on their farm for as long as was necessary.

" In any case," Mr. Brennon said, twisting to retrieve something from his jacket pocket. " Mary knows she overreacted. She wanted you to have this. "

He pulled out a jar of honey, one of the containers that Harry had been admiring in Mrs. Brennon's kitchen this morning.

"She didn't have to do this, " Harry said accepting the black lidded jar.

"Oh, nonsense, " Mr. Brennon said smiling. " It's real good in your tea. "

Harry didn't put honey in his tea, but to refuse the gift would be bad form.

" Thanks, "Harry said. " Tell her I appreciate it. "

" I will," Mr. Brennon said turning to make his way back to the farm house. " Come on, Ajax. "

The dog's ears perked up as he watched him go. Ajax stood lazily, stretched his legs, then trot up beside Mr. Brennon, escorting him back to the house.

Harry laid back on the grass, allowing the warm summer day to lull him asleep, at no time imagining that the days ahead of him would never be this easygoing again.

To be continued...

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Author's notes:

This one is later than usual. Thank you for your infinite patience.

Feedback will be cherished. Suggestions will be taken into serious consideration.


	16. many things

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming events, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this chapter.

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Circumstance

By Libellule

Chapter Sixteen

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The incessant drone of the rain splattering against the windows of the little cottage was about to drive Harry stark raving mad. Four days of rain- _four straight days_ of gray skies, imposed confinement, and _Snape_.

At first it had been a charming diversion, taking in the cool air, playing chess against himself, discovering leaks in the roof, learning how to magically patch them...

After the second day showed no signs of a change in the weather pattern, Harry poured over his spell book filling his time with brushing up on charms and other simple spells.

By day three Harry was just about at the end of his tether, and Snape, perhaps realizing this, demanded that Harry practice the barrier spell until he could perform it flawlessly. This distracted Harry for most of the day.

But on the morning of the fourth day, this morning, Harry was as fidgety as a dog with fleas. He paced around his small bedroom, wishing for some kind of reprieve.

Giving up, he entered the main living space of the cottage, thinking that perhaps Snape would break down and play chess with him.

Snape, in his infinite meanness, declined Harry's offer to play and outright refused his pleading.

Perhaps this was in fact the stem of Harry's attempts to placate his frustration...

Scowling, Harry flung himself into a kitchen chair and thumbed through his book. But he was sick of spell books, and of reading in general. He watched miserably as Snape turned another page in his own book. The Potion's Master sat facing the fire like he usually did, tea cup on the small table beside the chair.

How anyone could read so much was beyond Harry. It seemed that Snape had an infinite supply of reading material on hand, and not a day had gone by without his nose pressed between the pages.

Snape took a sip of tea, then placed the cup back down without looking up from his reading. A sly smile crept slowly along Harry's face as a deliciously devious idea popped into his head.

Ever so carefully, Harry removed his wand from his back pocket and pointed it towards Snape. Very quietly, almost inaudibly, he whispered a simple charm, and the tea cup slowly moved five inches to the right.

Unblinking, Harry waited, eyes fixed with eager satisfaction as Snape reached for the cup, missed, then glanced over from the pages to locate the cup. He took another sip, placed the cup down and returned to this book.

Again, Harry whispered the spell and the tea cup obeyed his command, moving even farther away from Snape than before.

Watching closely, the impish grin spreading wider, Harry nearly laughed with evil glee as he watched Snape's long fingers extend for the cup, only to miss again.

Snape stared at the cup for a moment, then his gaze dropped.

"_Potter_, " he hissed. Standing quickly, Snape whirling around to face Harry, who could not have held in his laughter if his life depended on it (and knowing Snape, it just might).

" Of all the childish, idiotic-," Snape's gruff reprimand was cut short as Harry decided to lift the tea cup, attempting to dump its contents on Snape's head.

Quickly, Snape muttered a counter spell and sent the cup whizzing in Harry's direction. Only his quick reflexes saved him from wearing the rest of Snape's tea. Taking this action as a challenge, Harry angled his wand at the blanket draped over the back of the chair, compelling it to fly up, spontaneously dropping over Snape.

Snape did not need to see to aim, apparently. Harry discovered this as a chair cushion hit him full in the face, stifling his howl of cheer.

" Potter, so help me-, " Snape groused as he tore at the blanket, trying to untangle himself. "Where is the end of this blasted thing? "

" This is war!" Harry exclaimed as Snape finally emerged from under the blanket.

Soon objects were hurtling around the room- not only tea cups and chair cushions, but spell books, unlit candles, rolls of parchment, both of Harry's sneakers, a lamp, the muggle book collection, Snape's cloak- any of the various easily portable items in the room that Harry and Snape could launch at each other.

After a decidedly juvenile exchange of spells Snape finally ground out, "Enough of this foolishness! _Accio_ wand! " Harry's wand flew from his outstretched fingers into Snape's waiting hand.

With a swoop of his arm and a muttered word, Snape instantly forced the displaced objects back into their designated spots.

He rounded on Harry, looming menacingly about him.

"_You_ have the _worse_ case of cabin fever I have _ever_ witnessed. Go outside, and do _not_ come back in until you have exorcised your restlessness!" Snape said sternly, pointing toward the door.

But there was more mirth in his eyes than anger, Harry distinguished, and knew that his moment of fitful insanity had not aggravated Snape as much as he pretended it did.

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With nothing to protect Harry from the rain save for the gray hood of his sweatshirt, he trudged across an acreage of farm land soaked to the bone. Though Harry was ankle deep in the murky earth, he couldn't have been more pleased- he was finally out of the cottage.

A sense of ease swept around him as he took a deep breath of cold, country air.

He couldn't figure out why he'd been so restless, especially since he usually spent his summers trapped inside number four Privet Drive. Grinning, Harry still couldn't believe that he'd had the audacity to pester Snape, and further, that Snape hadn't slain him on the spot for doing so, but had actually teased him back.

He never thought that Snape could be so- 

_Playful_, Harry thought.

That was certainly not a common adjective used to describe the old Potion's Master.

Harry walked his usual route, ambling past the sheep paddock to the edge of the property, then roamed around the perimeter. His thoughts began to wander as he fell into routine.

Ron and Hermione would never believe the summer he was having. This summer was a close contented to the previous one, when he'd been chased by dementors, broken wizard law to defend himself and his cousin, lived at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, and almost got expelled from Hogwarts all together (among other things).

Smiling fondly, Harry wondered how his two closest friends were, what new and terribly exciting things they were doing without him. A bittersweet yearning encompassed his heart- he longed to be a normal teenager, who's biggest concern was having fun with friends, coming through school, and possibly getting a girlfriend.

But these cares were not for Harry. Not anymore. He had to shoulder saving the entire wizarding world from a murderous madman.

The thought was sobering.

Harry now stood at the edge of the property. He walked along the low stone fence that encompassed the entire farm, surveying the land beyond the border. Dark fields of over grown grass widened into a brooding forest. He stared into its dark depths imagining the creatures that lurked within.

He caught a strain of something in the wind, a mournful sound. Harry strained to hear, tilting his head to one side listening. A beautifully mournful melody hung in the air, the sound of a woman singing softly.

The forrest, which he had been warned about because of the wolves and other wild creatures, was dark and did not reveal another human soul.

Harry had never met the neighbors not that there were any to speak of. The next property was miles away.  
_  
Who was that singing?_ Come to think of it- Harry had heard this melody before on the day he arrived in Ireland. Smirking, he remembered Snape's comment about the sea air addling his brain. Sometimes, Harry didn't think that assessment was too far off.

He started to turn away, when the sweet voice lured him back. It was so heart-wrenchingly gorgeous that Harry could help but move towards it. He couldn't _not _ listen to that resplendent melody.

As he listened, a deep thirsting desire built up inside him, welling in his stomach until all he could feel was that yearning. This voice was promising him things- success, power, life, _love_.

_Yes, love_, it sang, _I will give you that which you have been denied for too long. _

A cool breeze grazed his cheek as he walked, the air feeling like death breathing cold upon his skin...

Sharp pain shot through his leg, and Harry broke from his transfixed state to find Ajax biting his leg, whining unpleasantly at him.

_Where did he come from?_ Harry thought staring down at the dog.

Harry did not know how long he'd been standing there in the rain, listening to the voice. Ajax pulled at his pant leg now, growling with displeasure as Harry realized he had climbed over the low stone wall, and was not more than ten paces away from being in the forrest.

The rain had made the temperature drop, and Harry sniffling with cold, realized that he had not only lost track of time, but had not been aware of anything that had happened during that lost time .

Hastily, he climbed back over the fence into the Brennon's protected land, Ajax jumping up over the piled rocks in one leap.

"Good thing you were here, Ajax," Harry said to the border collie. "Or else who knows where I would have got off to. "

This unsettled him. Harry had climbed over that wall with little to no provocation. It was easy. He had _wanted_ to do it, and nothing had stopped him save for one little black and white dog bringing him back to reality.

Who was that singing? As he walked further, however, he couldn't hear the voice anymore and by the time the cottage came into view he wasn't sure he ever had in the first place.

While the walk away from the farm had been pleasant, the walk back was dreadful. Thoroughly soaked, and shivering from cold Harry was actually happy to see the little cottage he'd been so desperate to escape only a short while earlier.

Ajax barked happily, wanting to come inside, but Harry didn't think Snape would allow a dog into their small living space, let alone a _wet_ dog.

Bending to pet the dog, Harry murmured, " Go back home, Ajax, " and he pointed towards the farm house. Ajax understood him with no additional explanation, taking off down the green like a shot.

He wouldn't tell Snape how close he had come to leaving the protection of the farm. Snape would probably hex him into next week if he found out.

When Harry entered the cottage, he expected Snape to say _something_ at the very least, but the dark haired wizard was silent. Harry tried to decipher the silence as he walked the short distance to his closet-like bedroom for a fresh set of clothes. Snape didn't seem to be angry or even annoyed at Harry's childish display earlier. Thankfully, there were no questions as to where he had been and what he'd been doing for all this time.

It wasn't as warm inside the cottage as Harry had hoped. Grumbling, he rummaged through a drawer looking for something suitable. Harry was pulling a sweater over his head when he first heard it.

A horrible, painful cough emanated from the other room. Snape took a rugged, shuddering breath.

_Oh no,_ Harry thought, peering silently through the doorway in Snape's direction. That sound sent a thrill of terror down Harry's spine- his sense of security and general feeling of well being, of temporary reprieve from worry, deflated with the sound of Snape's raspy breathing.

Harry's first and immediate thought was, _He can't die, I-_ And the thought was so stark, so horrific that he immediately brushed it aside, chastising himself for jumping to hasty conclusions.

After all it was just one little wheeze. Snape was recovering from a major respiratory trauma. These things were bound to happen... _Right?_

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Trying not to look too obvious, Harry stole a furtive glance up at Snape. The soft hitch in his breathing had been a regular occurrence for over an hour now.

Harry frowned, reaching for his tea cup as an excuse to look up from his reading and glance at Snape. The Potion's Master _had_ been getting better. As each day passed Snape became more and more like the snarky, sadistic, sarcastic, sneaky Professor Snape he had come to know over the past five years.

But today, his progress had regressed. Snape was hiding it well, but Harry could tell that it took extra stamina for him to take a breath (granted, Harry hadn't noticed all day that he was hurting.)

_It must be the cold_, Harry reasoned. _The cold weather is aggravating his condition._

It was Harry's turn to take care of Snape for a change. The older wizard had been watching out for Harry longer than he cared to admit.

Immediately, Harry sought out the greatest source of the cold- the open window. The motivation for the action would have to remain hidden, Harry thought as he rubbed his arms feigning cold. Snape would never accept anything from Harry for his own behalf.

"Gonna shut the window, " Harry remarked casually as he crossed the room.

" If you wish, " Snape said. He'd switched from reading to writing, scrawling row after row of neat spidery script in a small leather bound book.

Harry didn't understand why Snape had the window open when it was cold and rainy outside. It didn't really make sense in his head until he saw ashes on the window ledge. He paused, wiping his finger across the sill.

_Thornapple_, he thought stricken. Of course, he had no proof that the powdery gray substance was in fact ashes from one of Snape's poison, pain-reducing cigarettes, but what else could it be?

Thinking back on the last week, he reexamined Snape's behavior, trying to remember if any symptoms had shown up. Frustrated, Harry realized that he'd happily spent most of his time away from Snape, therefore missing any signs that his fragile respiratory condition was not improving the way he let on.

Harry went to the fireplace, removing the black kettle from its place in the fire and poured himself a cup of tea.

"Want some? " Harry asked. "There's more than enough hot water. "

" All right," Snape said, for once being agreeable.

Harry brought a small pot of hot water back to the table, with the tea box, but Snape filled his own cup with something he took from his robe pocket.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

" My own private store, " Snape said.

"Hey, " Harry said, an idea lighting his face. " You want some honey with that? " He moved to get the jar he'd received from Mrs. Brennon.

"Perhaps another time, " Snape said.

"Okay," Harry replied, disappointed. He thought that honey in tea was supposed to be soothing.

.o.

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Everything was bleached vivid white and blue, like on old photograph discolored from years of exposure to the sun. Blurry shapes swayed around him, the walls warping out of shape. He couldn't see clearly, his eyes refusing to focus on anything around him.

Racing down a narrow corridor, he heard the ominous cadence of dual metronomes, pounding the beat out of sync with each other, _thump-thump, thump-thump,_ as the close set walls moved in on him. The stones beneath his feet were shifting, dropping out as he ran. Something slick and wet made him slip, and Harry went crashing down...

Harry woke with a start. At first he was disoriented, not understanding where he was. Slowly, his eyes focused.

It was so warm and comfortable that Harry had fallen asleep right at the table. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. It had to be Snape's doing.

_What time is it?_ He thought idly. Rubbing a kink out of his neck, he sat up slowly. The dream was already fading from his mind, but before it left Harry couldn't help but think that it was awfully familiar.

A persistent feeling of deja-vu tugged at his bones. He knew his dream had frightened him awake, but what that dream was he couldn't remember.

_I was running- I was scared, _he remembered. Harry sat very still, going over the fading reverie. His dreams were usually significant, although last year, his dreams turned out to be Voldemort poisoning his mind. This was different somehow...

Harry was almost certain it wasn't the present playing out in his dreams. He shivered as the thought formed. _It could be the future._ Only this scared him more.

The dream was gone already, leaving behind only vague impressions of emotion. Maybe it was just a dream for once... just a normal nightmare.

He was not comforted by this as he pulled himself up from the table and headed towards his room for a proper night's rest. Harry couldn't trust his own subconscious.

To be continued...

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Author's notes:

This one is much later than usual. April was a tough month for me. Thank you for your continual patience.

Feedback will be cherished. Suggestions will be taken into serious consideration. I've received some wonderful comments and I'd just like to thank everyone who's taken the time to hit that feedback button. You have no idea how inspiring it is to find feedback in your inbox.

By the way, someone mentioned that Ajax is a brand of kitchen cleaner- lol, yes it is, but it is also the name of a Greek warrior. I just liked the name. I kinda thought it would be fun if Mr. Brennon named all his animals after ancient Greeks, regardless of what the legend tells us about them. He lives on a remote farm in Ireland. He probably has nothing better to do with his time, lol.


	17. Same Old Song and Dance

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once by the way, this story takes place after book five but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story. Please note that this is about to become extremely AU with the release of book six.

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Circumstance  
by Libellule

Chapter 17

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Pale sunlight streaked across Harry's face as he rolled over in his bed. He yawned lazily, sprawled carefree across the mattress. It had been a dreamless sleep and in Harry's book that made it a good night.

He sighed contentedly. It had finally stopped raining. Harry could feel the warmth of the sun against his skin, and even smell the heat of it lingering in the air.

_It must be late_, he thought while sitting up. The last time that Harry had felt this rested was at the beginning of the summer holiday when he wasted his days away at the Dursley's.

That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Getting dressed quickly, he wondered what snide remark Snape would greet him with this morning. It was Snape's daily custom to start his morning with some kind of derisive comment, and Harry, though annoyed at first, had come to understand the difference between Snape's wrathful jabs and his innocuous ones, and rebutted each remark with one of his own.

Harry smiled a little at the thought.

He stepped into the living space, noticing a plate of muffins on the table, and a pitcher of orange juice- the Brennon's morning offering. Despite whatever Mrs. Brennon had against wizards, she obviously had a greater love of cooking than she had hatred for magical persons. Her food was delicious- would put the Hogwarts house elves to shame.

Harry took a muffin from the plate, rounding the table to comment to Snape, when he suddenly realized that he wasn't there.

He stopped.

_Your powers of observation astound me, Potter_, Harry imagined he would say as he stared at the empty chair. Snape always sat in that chair, morning, noon and night. It had become _his_ chair.

Momentarily dumbstruck, Harry idly turned a circle, as if Snape was playing some sort of joke on him.

_Snape's not really the joke playing kind_, Harry thought, though he paused to consider if their magic fight the day before would merit some kind of retaliation from the Potion's Master.

" Where the hell is he? " Harry wondered aloud. He couldn't be... _outside_? The thought of Snape outdoors seemed too absurd. It would ruin his brooding image if he were caught gallivanting around in the sunshine.

There was no other explanation, however. Harry smirked, highly doubting that Snape had ever _gallivanted_ once in his entire life.

Harry swung open the door of the cottage, expecting to see Snape just on the other side. He wasn't there, of course.

A very small twinge of worry caused Harry to wonder fleetingly, _How sick is he?_ Harry immediately pushed that thought away. Snape seemed all right aside from the persistent cough and occasional raspy breath. There hadn't been any blood, and to Harry that was the biggest sign of trouble.

_So he's okay_, he reasoned, though not entirely convinced.

Warmth had returned to the air with the departure of the rain. The breeze smelled sweet and felt soothing across Harry's face, calming him a bit.

It was then that he heard the strains of voices and turned to find its source.

_There_, Harry thought, ridiculously relieved at the sight of Mr. Brennon and Snape walking around the barn. He smiled despite himself and rushed to join them.

"... should be fine, Mr. Snape. Don't use it much now. Used to on nights when it was too cold or rainy for the sheep to be outside, but we since built a new-. "

" This seems adequate enough, " Snape interrupted. "We will begin right away." Snape stopped and looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry didn't know what to say so he simply said, "Hi. "

"Hello there, Harry, " Mr. Brennon said smiling. "You got nothing to worry about. Mr. Snape here and me worked it out fine. "

" Ah, right," Harry replied as he thought, _Worked what out?_

"Well, I'll leave ya to it then," Mr. Brennon said, tipping his hat and moving past them towards the sheep paddock.

"What was he on about, then? " Harry asked, although suspecting that he did not want to know what it was that Snape had worked out .

"Come here, Potter, " Snape said, leveling his black eyes to his, beckoning him forward. Harry felt a knot form in his stomach, and he reluctantly obeyed.

Apprehension filled him. If a potion's lab was set up in there, then Harry knew he was in for trouble. If the words remedial potions even crossed Snape's lips, it would be a fate worse than the Dursley's and Umbridge combined. Harry had no patience for potions, a fact that would very likely aggravate Snape and cause a very unpleasant summer for both.

Then another thought, far more horrific than the first, crossed Harry's mind- _Occlumency._ Feeling his stomach churn, Harry knew that this was a far more likely possibility, one that he'd been absently dreading for weeks.

What kinds of things did Snape have planned for him in that barn?

But when Harry stepped across the rotting wood threshold into the decrepit structure, he found he was met with nothing.

_Nothing_. _Nada. Zip. Zlich._

The barn was wide open. Old farm equipment, which had rusted from years of disuse, was stored against the far wall. The dirt floor held evidence that rows and rows of animal stalls had once been there, but only a few rows on the right side remained, while the others were long since gone.

"We now have adequate space, " Snape said striding past him into the barn.

"Space for what? " Harry asked almost afraid of the answer.

" Dueling," Snape said matter-of-factly, as if it should have been obvious.

Harry felt a sense of self-assured ease. That's practically what he had done all year with the DA. He and his friends had even come up against Death Eaters and his skills had not failed him. This was probably the only thing aside from Quidditch that he was confident enough to face off against Snape.

" I thought so," Snape remarked, a sneer passing over his face.

"What?" Harry snapped defensively.

"When I heard what went on in the Department of Mysteries, I suspected that you had experience outside of Dolores Umbridge's tutelage. I wasn't certain this was so until this moment," Snape smiled triumphantly. " Your face betrays you, Potter. "

Despite his best effort, Harry felt himself redden with temper. He hated that Snape could read him as if he were an open book, though Snape always had been remarkably observant, and more than likely could see straight through most guises.

"Are you ready to begin Mr. Potter? " Snape asked taking out his wand hidden from the sleeve of his shirt.

Harry returned his gaze to Snape, and he smiling confidently he said, " I'm ready if you are. "

"Of course, " Snape said. "But first, begin the barrier spell. This is why I taught it to you after all. "

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Ducking under the rush of magic swirling at him, Harry flattened himself against the dirt of the barn floor, momentarily disgusted by the scent of the once animal trodden ground.

They'd been at this for hours. Training with Snape was a lot different than he had expected, although Harry wasn't sure why he was so surprised.

Wand gripped tightly in hand, Harry quickly regrouped, scrambling hastily to his feet. Snape was watching him with a slight frown on his face as he walked slowly around him.

" I know you can do better than this, " he sneered. "Unless it was sheer dumb luck that got you past those Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. "

Determined to cram those ridiculing words down Snape's throat, Harry attacked, hurling hexes at his antagonizer.

Snape deflected them back to sender, and Harry, having expected this much, shielded himself from his own curses.

He was disappointed in himself. Harry thought he'd be able to show off his defense against the dark arts skills, make Snape see that he was indeed a force to be reckoned with. But all he'd managed to accomplish was to wear himself out, and to receive a slew of taunts from Snape.

A small voice in Harry's head consoled him. After all, he hadn't done much magic at all in over two months. But another, louder, more irritable voice argued that Voldemort wouldn't care that he hadn't practiced in two months.

Angrily, Harry attacked Snape again determined to take the wand from Snape's hand and end the duel victoriously. The sheer force of the attack caused Snape to stumble. Wildly, Harry took the momentary lapse to his advantage, attacking Snape with all his fury. But Snape wasn't as distracted as Harry thought.

In a quick, "_ Expelliarmus! "_ Snape knocked the wand out of Harry's hand, advancing so closely that his own wand tip was inches from Harry's face.

"_Accio_ wand, " Snape said, and moments later Harry's holly wand flew from its place on the ground inches from his fingers, and into Snape's fist.

Snape admonished him, "My, my, Potter." He smiled wryly. "One must have patience. "

Harry stared defiantly at him, a mix of anger and embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

"You made classic second year mistakes, " Snape lectured. "You seem to know a great deal of spells, more than I thought your feeble brain could retain, but still- an abysmal application of them. You had no _strategy_, no _cunning_- in essence, no _plan_ to take me down other than hurling spells at me and hoping that I would fall. "

Snape paused for a moment, and Harry could see him reaching for just the right insult to throw at him.

"This ill-conceived notion may have worked," he went on, "if you had had the stamina to outlast me- Alas, your impatience got the better of you and here you are as good as dead."

Harry's heart filled with rage, not only due to Snape's words, but because he was right. He hadn't given one whit to strategy. All he'd managed to prove was that he had a large repertoire of spells to draw upon, but what good was that if not put to good use?

Despite this, Harry would be damned if he was going to let Snape how right he was.

" Can I have my wand back, _Sir?"_ Harry asked with a touch of insolence.

Snape eyed him." And why should I give it back to you, Mr. Potter?" he questioned. "You hardly have the aptitude to handle such a finely made instrument, let alone attempt magic with it. "

" That's not true!" Harry raged. What made Snape think that he was the authority on magic-on _him_? Snape was a bit too full of himself, Harry bristled.

" Prove me wrong," Snape challenged. " So far all you've managed to prove is how you've followed in Black's meandering footsteps! "

"I'd be proud to be like Sirius!" Harry shouted, a poisonous hatred coursing through his blood. If he didn't allow Snape to mar Sirius' name while he was alive, he certainly was not going to stand for it now that he was dead.

"You'd be foolish to, " Snape snapped back at him. " It was his recklessness that got him killed. "

"You weren't even there," Harry retorted. " Sirius was brave. He fought for what he believed in, which is more than I can say for-. "

" Sirius Black was an irresponsible half-wit, Potter, " Snape spat venomously. " He cared more about the _thrill_, than the cause- cared more about himself than y-. " Snape stopped short mid sentence, as if reconsidering his words.

He visibly tried to restrain his anger. " He was careless to the end, " he started again quietly. " Don't model yourself after him. Black was a fool. "

" HE WAS NOT," Harry yelled, and in that instant all the anger that had been welling up inside of him burst.

Though he was not holding his wand, a mighty surge of magic escaped from Harry, and Snape was propelled back, smashing hard against an old stable door with enough force to cause the hinges to snap and the door to fall to the ground with a resounding thud.

Harry blinked, breathing hard. _Oh, shit_, he thought.

Snape sat up, slowly, clearly fazed. "Potter- ," he began, but Harry didn't stay to hear the rest. He ran from the barn, needing fresh air to clear his head, the barrier spell retracting as he fled.

.o.

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Midday had given way to late afternoon, and the setting sun cast fiery orange light across the Irish countryside. Harry did not appreciate the beautiful sight, however, as he crossed the acreage of farmland, ignoring Ajax's playful barks as he passed.

_How did that happen?_ Harry thought furiously as the cool pre-evening breeze swept through his hair.

Walking swiftly without thought or purpose, he felt drained, exhausted, but was determined to sort all this out in his head, and so walked onward, oblivious.

As far as he was concerned, this was entirely Snape's fault. He had gotten what was coming to him, hadn't he? But Harry sighed heavily. Why did Snape have to provoke him? Didn't he realize how much Sirius had meant to him? And how hard it had been to lose him?

_Of course he does_, Harry though angrily. Of course Snape knew, and that's precisely why he did it- to push Harry's buttons, to get him riled up.

Sirius was a sore subject for both of them. Neither could let go of their deep personal feelings towards him, and had Sirius been around to realize this, Harry felt that he would have been extremely pleased.

To Harry he'd been a mentor and a link to his lost family, and to Snape he'd been an adversary and a reminder of his unpleasant youth.

When he got back, Harry knew he was going to get another lecture on controlling his emotions- that is if Snape didn't obliterate him into next week first.

Feeling a twinge of anxiety at the thought of facing Snape after nearly knocking him senseless, Harry decided to focus on the magic that had spontaneously come to the surface.

This was not the first time such an incident had occurred- one of the more memorable moments had been when he blew up his Aunt Marge. Of course, that had been an accident too. So had the time he'd set a python on his cousin Dudley at the zoo.

Harry realized that both of those occurrences were fueled by underlying anger. Balling his hands into fists, he threw his arms over his head as if to keep it from flying off. Those incidents had happened years apart, but within less than a month Harry had had two such episodes of this explosive magic.

What if the next time this happened someone got hurt? What if his temper detonated this magic upon Ron or Hermione? Snape was an adult wizard- a powerful one at that- and he had been fazed by it.

What was he going to do? A sense of helplessness befell him.

Suddenly, Harry felt something tickling the back of his neck. His hand slapped there immediately, attempting to knock off the offending bug or tree twig, only to find nothing there. He glanced up, realizing for the first time that he'd left the farm.

He had wandered by the forest again, but this time Ajax wasn't there to stop him.

" I wonder if she's in there, " Harry said aloud, his eyes searching among the dark trees.

_I should get back_, he thought, though he did not turn from the woods. Harry knew that he shouldn't be there, but he couldn't stop his curiosity.

A faint whisper drifted past his ears and Harry stared more intently. The sweet singing had returned, and the sound created such an ache in Harry- he hadn't known how deep a loss her song had cleaved until it returned to fill the gaping hole within him.

Harry walked without meaning to, moving forward into the forest. All thought, all reason lost as he followed the engaging call of her melodious voice.

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Snape laid on the dirt floor of the barn staring up into the rafters that upheld the rickety roof. Though his head was spinning, he was not as put out as one would think after being struck down by a student.

That was the second time that Harry had demonstrated an impressive display of wandless magic, the first time manifesting in the form of legilimency.

Snape thought carefully, making connections between the two incidents.

Both arrays happened during a moment of high emotional distress as a defense mechanism- one fueled by fear, the other by anger. The accidental magic was far more potent than anything a wizard Harry's age should be capable of. Clearly, the boy had an impressive font of dormant magic lurking within him. (That- or he was alarmingly connected to Voldemort, more so than even Dumbledore suspected.)

But this revelation troubled Snape. Without proper training this type of wild magic could be dangerous. This only cemented Snape's belief that Harry must gain complete control of his emotions if he was to defeat the Dark Lord.

Snape closed his eyes waiting patiently for the ache in his head to abate. Suddenly the sound of a barking dog jackknifed through his consciousness. Ajax ran across the barn right to Snape and pulled on his sleeve.

"Get away from me, you mangy flea bag," Snape remarked, swatting idly at the dog. Ajax deftly avoided his hand, running around to his other side, and licked his face.

Snape sat up sharply, seeing stars before his eyes, and muttered obscenities at the dog, who didn't seem to care that he'd disturbed the vertiginous wizard before him.

" Well, you've got me up, " Snape said wiping his wet face with the sleeve of his shirt, " what _is_ it? "

The dog barked again and paced back and forth, whining.

"_Not_ so loud, " Snape hissed massaging the back of his head with one hand. The dog whined again clearly distressed. "This is about Potter, isn't it? "

Ajax cocked his head to one side as if confused by Snape's words.

" Oh, for Merlin's sake! It's _Harry_, isn't it?" Snape repeated, and at the use of the boy's familiar name, Ajax jumped up excitedly, barking and running circles around Snape.

" _Stop_ that infernal barking," Snape ground out, " or I shall be forced to put a silencing charm on you. " He gave a scathing look to the dog. " And don't think I won't just because you're a dog."

Though he was a dog, Ajax seemed to understand the threat behind Snape's words and did not bark, but pulled at Snape's pant leg, anxious for him to get up.

Taking in his breath through gritted teeth, Snape gingerly pushed himself to stand. His encounter with the stable door, while not serious, left him in a somewhat addled state. Despite his attitude towards Harry's application of wizardry, Snape could not deny the strong bearing of potent magic within the boy.

Not for the first time, Snape saw startling parallels between Harry and Voldemort- erratic outbursts of formidable magic was one of them. Snape had known Voldemort's magic at it's strongest and most vicious- when raw emotion turned his anger to smoldering, vindictive dark magic.

If Harry indeed possessed such magic, then he would need to be trained before he became a danger to himself and other wizards.

Losing patience, Ajax risked another bark, running in circles.

"All right, all right," Snape groused. " Show me," he said pocketing both his and Harry's wands.

Bounding out the door, Ajax took off across the farm, leading Snape towards the forest. He stopped at the stone wall that separated the boundary of the farm from the forest edge. Somehow, Snape was not at all surprised to find that Harry had gone into the woods.

_Of course_, Snape thought nastily, _he does the stupidest thing possible._

"Stay here," he said curtly to Ajax, who sat down obediently.

As Snape stepped foot through the threshold of trees he was immediately startled by an overwhelming sense of magic. There had to be not ten nor twenty, but _hundreds_ of magical creatures living in the forest.

_Dumbledore told me that this was a muggle inhabited area-_ Snape angrily realized that he had been hoodwinked by the venerable head of Hogwarts. It was very _un_likely that Dumbledore had _not_ known exactly the area to which he had sent them.

_Not with the golden boy in my care_, he reasoned miserably.

With this much magic surrounding them, there was really no need for the extreme precautions they had observed to keep their own magic obscured.

_That interfering old coot, _Snape thought.

Deliberately misleading, Dumbledore had not corrected him from thinking that their use of magic had to be limited, and Snape suspected that this was because of the near fatal curse he'd suffered. In his own roundabout way, Dumbledore had made certain that Snape had ample time to recover whether his stubborn pride wanted time or not.

Snape straightened himself as he walked through the trees. He could not deny that he'd almost lost his life from the hex, and since that day he had not entirely felt himself.

He sighed indifferently. From the day he'd left Voldemort's service, Snape knew he was on borrowed time. Why Dumbledore saw fit to save his life was beyond him, but in some small measure, Snape was glad for it. He had a feeling that there was still one important thing left for him to do.

Something moved among the limbs of the trees causing a gentle rustling of leaves. Snape stopped, his black eyes scanning left to right, looking for the source of the movement. Any number of beasts could have created the stirring, from birds to pixies, and at this rate he would never find Harry.

Retrieving his wand, he whispered, "_ Descry. "_ He centered his thoughts on Harry, and an instant later he felt a warm current of air streak through him and into the dark woods. The warmth hung in the air like incense wafting in the great hall at Christmas time. Allowing the hot path to slowly churn, he strode forward following the jet of gentle heat to his intended mark- to Harry.

While he moved among the trees and brush, he was aware of many sets of eyes upon him, and wondered fleetingly when was the last time a wizard had entered this forest.

It was eerily quiet. His keen black eyes surveyed his surroundings carefully. He knew _something_ was stalking him, but that was not his utmost priority.

_Harry Potter, you'll be the death of me yet,_ Snape thought sourly.

An expansive lake spread out before him, the tall trees of the forest casting blue shadows across the vast pool. And there was Harry, slowly submerging himself into the dark depths.

"Potter, " Snape called, his voice echoing across the water.

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" Stop this instant!" a strong voice commanded, breaking the spell that had captured Harry's consciousness.

Awaking as if from a dream, Harry blinked for the first time fully aware of his surroundings. He gasped, floundering for an instant in the water.

" Potter! Get out of there!" Snape shouted from the water's edge.

Harry twisted his neck to look at him, confused and disoriented, "I-I can't move!" Harry shouted back. He couldn't understand it, and then he realized that something had taken hold of him.

_She_ had him, the secret chanteuse, her arms wrapped tightly around him, pulling him against her. Ethereal and nymph like, her cold, almost translucent skin glittered iridescently in the dusky light, and her long white hair swirled gently around them in the water.

Harry didn't know what manner of creature she was, but she certainly was not human. With her voice alone she had hypnotized and lured him out here without Harry even being aware that she was a danger.

_"Look away, child,"_ she sang softly in his ear, "_the darkness will try to steal you from me again."_

Harry felt the strong allurement of her voice pull at his consciousness. He shook himself sternly, struggling futilely in her clutches. It was too late, he thought furiously, she held him intently in her grasp.

He opened his mouth to alert Snape, but felt strangled, and short of breath. All his energy was drained, and he felt weakness spreading sleepily throughout his limbs.

He saw Snape's sharp eyes narrow and Harry knew that he'd spotted her. " Let the boy go, " he said softly, his voice taking on a dangerous quality. " I won't tell you again. "Edging into the water, Snape waded carefully and slowly towards them.

Pulling Harry closer to her, and consequently farther into the lake, she opened her mouth, but instead of the dulcet song Harry was used to, she let out a blood curdling scream.

The sound vibrated wrathfully seeming to shake the whole world apart. Harry stopped struggling with her and threw his arms about his head, trying to keep his skull from splitting in two.

Snape staggered backward, splashing in the water, though managed to stay above the surface.

_"Look away, child_," she sang to him again, her voice returning to the sweet tone Harry was used to. "_I will protect you."_

"Let me go, " Harry said wearily, knowing that being in her presence was making him drowsy and if he fell asleep he would certainly drown. 

Snape raised his wand to her, moving closer and further into the lake. _ "Silenci- "_ but his words were cut off before he could finish the spell, and he disappeared abruptly as if pulled into the water.

"Professor!" Harry shouted, struggling wildly to free himself.

_"I know this lake better than thee_," she sang with a haughty laugh.

Harry watched in horror as the ripples along the surface of the water stilled.

_"Look away, child. I will give you that which you have been denied for too long," _she sang soothingly to him, pulling him further still into the lake.

" No, _no_-, " Harry murmured, his heart beating very fast in his chest. Snape could not have drowned- he just couldn't have.

_"You will stay with me,"_ she lulled, "_you'll be safe with me forever_."

Without warning, water erupted, gushing up to the left of them as Snape broke through. Gasping for air, he turned towards them, sending water flying in all directions. He swept the black hair out of his face, the wet, stark contrast making his pale skin seem even more blanched. Clearly agitated, he pointed his wand at the diaphanous woman, intent on putting an end to all this.

Startled by the presence of an adult wizard in such close proximity to her, she opened her mouth to deliver another earth shattering shriek, only this time Snape cut her off with a curt, " _Silencio! "_

The scream died before she'd been able to start it. Gaping, she stared wide-eyed and terrified at Snape. Harry realized that she was more like a magical creature than a witch, and feared wizard kind with the same instinct that an animal feared man.

_"Keep back! He is to stay with me. You will not interfere!"_ She screamed, though the words were not uttered aloud so much as projected to them.

She clutched Harry in a viselike grip, holding onto him as if her life depended on it. Even as Harry choked on the water, struggling to keep his face above the surface, he knew that she was running out of options. He could sense her fright of the wizard before her.

_"He's not your child!" _she shrieked at Snape, her expression desperate, almost pleading.

" Neither is he yours, " Snape whispered, and the truth in these words were her undoing. She breathed in a shuddering sob, releasing Harry from her enchantment.

Harry dipped below the water's surface, all strength gone, but Snape held fast to him, hoisting him up and away from her with a surprisingly strong grip. Making sure there would be no more trouble from her, Snape watched her retreat back across the lake, wailing sorrowfully in the face of the truth.

Snape waited until they had reached dry land, and the lake had disappeared from view before asking, "Are you all right? "

Harry glanced back over his shoulder. He could hear her sobbing resounding dolefully through the trees.

"Yeah," he said simply, though a thousand questions ran through his head- _What is she? Why did was she after me? _

Taking two paces, Harry promptly collapsed back onto the forest floor, resting for a moment, allowing his strength to return. He was wet and tired, miserable and embarrassed, but otherwise okay.

Wordlessly, Snape handed Harry his wand before performing a drying spell on himself.

"Thanks, " Harry said, taking it quickly, lest he should change his mind. Watching Snape carefully, Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Are you going to tell me how this happened, Potter, or am I going to have to guess? " Snape asked disdainfully.

_Ah, here it comes_, Harry thought, a scowl twisting his face. "I don't know, all right?" He snapped, getting to his feet.

Not saying a word, Snape's sharp eyes followed him as he uneasily took short paces back and forth.

"One minute I'm walking around the farm, the next thing I know I'm in the water, " Harry explained. "I mean, I heard her singing before, but I'd always-. "

"You heard her _before_?" Snape questioned sharply.

"Well, yes, but-. "

"_When?" _ Snape interrogated.

"The first time was on the boat here and the second- "

" You heard her _more than twice?_ " Snape ground out, clearly angry.

"Will you stop interrupting!" Harry retorted. " I didn't think it was a big deal-. "

" Actually, no, I- "

"She's a _Lorelei_- a water siren. She was going to kill you, Potter! You would have drown in that lake had I not come to save your ungrateful hide! What good is all of _this,_ " Snape said gesturing to himself and to Harry, " if you sabotage yourself from within? "

Feeling anger boiling up in him again, Harry spouted heatedly, "Look, it's not like I could help it! I didn't know what was happening-. "

Suddenly, Snape held up his hand and said brusquely, "Quiet!" Harry opened his mouth, intending to tell Snape to shove it, but the words died in his throat. Snape was not looking at him, but peered searchingly into the trees.

A haunting silence expanded around them. Harry couldn't hear any birds or insects or even the slight rustling of tree branches. Everything had become still.

Shivering in the night air, Harry folded his arms across his chest, and looked at Snape who had drawn his wand. Following suit, Harry also retrieved his wand and took a step closer to Snape so they were shoulder to shoulder.

"What is it? " Harry whispered.

But Snape didn't answer. Instead he gestured to the path in front of them, and just ahead, stepping out from the shadows, was a figure of a man.

He wore wizards' attire, but the hem of his cloak was worn and ratty as if he'd traversed a long distance on foot. His long brown hair was tied back with a ribbon, revealing his porcelain white skin and pale green eyes. A confident, self assured smirk twisted his face as he surveyed them.

A deep sense of foreboding coursed through Harry, who he suppressed another shiver.

The man walked towards them, and Snape tensed up, straightening himself and squaring off. Harry watched the man move and realized there was something peculiar about him.

"I wonder what a pair of wizards are doing ere?" He said out loud. " Don't they know how dangerous this place is? "

He smiled menacingly, revealing a row of sharp, fanged teeth, and with almost a laugh, he added, " 'specially at night. "

Snape took a small side step, positioning himself just slightly in front of Harry, tightening his hand around his wand.

Harry gasped appalled, "He's a vampire. "

To be continued...

Author's note:

So, as you know, I haven't posted in two months, but you'll notice that this chapter is twice as long as the chapters I usually post. I really hope you like it.

Also, I hope that everyone enjoys their book six experience. I'm excited about it (but nervous too! What will that mean for our favorite duo and for the future of Circumstance ?)

I'll most likely be posting my thoughts/comments on my LJ as I read (with spoiler space). You're welcome to come and discuss.

Check out my live journal: www . livejournal . com / users / griseldajane

If you're wondering when the next chapter is coming out, or would like to comment, this will keep you (and me) the most up to date. You can friend me. I like friends.

Thanks everybody. See you next chapter!


	18. Stuck all with Yew

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 18

_Harry gasped appalled, "he's a vampire." _

The creature standing before them gave off the perfect air of dangerous indifference, and Harry realized that none of the romantic legends of vampires could ever capture the unnerving, frightening truth of meeting one face to face.

His predatory pale eyes swept over them casually, as if he was completely unconcerned that he'd happened upon two wizards, very unlike the lorelei, who, though dangerous at first, had completely yielded when confronted by a wizard.

In those vampiric eyes, Harry saw their imminent deaths. There was no doubt in his mind that this creature was a ruthless killer-- had killed before, and would kill again after this night. He would murder them both without a hint of remorse-- two more conquests to add to his register of many.

The vampire smiled again, revealing his white fanged teeth, and ran his tongue along them.

Snape slowly edged in front of Harry, his arm ushering him back, but Harry resisted.

"Potter, get behind me," Snape whispered urgently, daring not to let his eyes stray from the vampire.

"I can fight," Harry insisted. He was not about to sit back and watch when Harry knew he could protect them-- he knew the magic was in him, if he could just _focus_.

Though Snape did not look at him, Harry knew he had acquiesced, and he could sense him ease up ever so slightly. "Then watch my back," Snape replied.

The vampire began to stride toward them, taking a deep breath through his nose, his pale eyes locked onto Snape. "You're bleeding," he whispered, his eyes closing with pleasure. "On the inside-- _I can smell it_," he said, his voice quivering.

Harry risked a glance up at Snape, and breathed distraught, "You're _bleeding?"_

But there was no time to answer. Taking advantage of Harry's lapse in concentration, the vampire's eyes suddenly shot open, a feral smile crossing his lips.

"Be prepared," Snape murmured. "Vampires strike fast and hard," he warned, but nothing could have readied Harry for this. A thrill of terror ran through him as the vampire rushed them.

If Harry had not witnessed it for himself, he would never have believed that anything could move that fast.

_"Impedimenta!_" Snape shouted, hurling the jinx at the creature. Harry had no doubt that Snape's aim was perfect with deadly precision-- that the hex missed spoke of the speed with which the vampire moved.

Everything deteriorated so quickly, that Harry barely had time to register what was happening.

The vampire sprang up, his superhuman strength propelling him high into the air.

"_Immobulus!"_ Snape exclaimed, but it did nothing to stop the fearsome creature. There was no more time for magic.

Lunging at Harry, Snape pushed him down, just barely avoiding the vampire's hold. No sooner were they down did Snape say, "Get up. Get _up!_'" And Harry was hoisted to his feet.

Furiously resisting, Snape yelled_ "Reducto!" _ A large hollow was blasted into the dirt before the vampire's feet causing him to stumble into the hole. This did not cause enough of a diversion as was needed.

Angered by the use of magic against him, the vampire vaulted from the pit, diving at Snape, who could not avoid the creature's grasp. His wand flew from his hand, sailing uselessly over his shoulder.

"It's been so long since I've tasted wizard blood," he murmured, his eyes wandering Snape's flesh.

Harry aimed his wand at the vampire and shouted, _"Petrificus To--."_

Moving incomprehensibly fast, the vampire swiped at Harry as if he was nothing more than a housefly, knocking him down viciously. Harry's head impacted with the ground. Stars swam before his eyes as his vision doubled.

"I'll deal with you in a moment," he snarled.

"Pot--," but that's all Snape got out.

Harry looked up, dazed, trying to make his eyes focus.

The vampire grabbed Snape by the throat, ramming him back against a tree with inhuman strength. "Foolish mortal," he hissed. "You think because you're a wizard that all creatures should be under your mastery."

Helpless in his grip, struggling futilely, Snape choked for breath.

Forcing Snape's head to the side, the vampire exposed the pallid flesh of his neck. He paused, his lips hovering over his white skin. "Now you're under mine," he whispered before sinking his sharp fangs into Snape's throat.

Blood streamed down his neck, a grisly, shocking contrast to his pale skin.

"No!" Harry shouted, struggling to his feet. While distracted with Snape, the vampire paid no attention to Harry, who sent a hex hurtling at him.

The vampire withdrew from Snape, letting him slide as if boneless down the length of the tree onto the dirt. He reeled around, his mouth red, and glared menacingly at Harry.

Harry did not have time to voice his concern, as the vampire was upon him. Snape's dark red blood dripped down his chin and his eyes were frenzied.

"Can't wait for yours?" he growled. "No matter-- I'll do you and still have time to finish him before he dies."

"You won't be finishing anyone," Harry remarked, his heart racing almost as fast as his thoughts as he racked his brain for anything he could remember about vampires.

The vampire sped toward him, fangs bared.

"_Lumos __Solem!"_ Harry shouted.

The creature faltered-- the spell simulated the brightest light the vampire had ever seen since he'd been able to look at the sun, something that would burn him to death if he were to be caught in its natural rays now.

Harry wasted no time. Neither he nor Snape could afford his hesitation now. He knew his simple trick would only give him a moment to act, and with that he hurled a stunning spell at him with all his might.

The vampire staggered, clearly fazed.

_"Stupify!"_ Harry shouted, the red bolts of light finally rendering the creature unconscious.

Harry said clearly, _"Incarcerous."_ Ropes appeared around the vampire binding him tightly.

Breathing hard, Harry felt the heat of excitement seeping out of him, and he shivered, still wet from the Lorelei's lake.

Abruptly he whispered, "Snape," as if suddenly remembering that he lay unmoving just a few feet away.

Dropping to his knees beside the fallen Potions master, Harry pulled Snape up by the shoulders into a sitting position.

"Professor!" Harry gasped fearfully, eyes locked onto the gruesome trail of blood running down Snape's neck. "Are you-- will you be--."

"I'm fine," Snape insisted, though his voice was weak. Harry was not convinced.

"Vampire bites are not the same as werewolf bites," Snape said. "I won't _turn_, so you can stop looking at me like that."

"That's not--," Harry began, choking back his frustrated words. "You've lost a lot of blood," he said, changing tactics.

"...not that much," Snape said but his words had started to slur. Fatigue was evident in his features.

Harry tugged at his shirtsleeve, bringing the material over his palm, and he pressed his hand over the bleeding bite mark, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. "You might need a blood replenishment potion," Harry suggested with a frown, thinking about the time when Mr. Weasley was attacked by the snake in the Department of Mysteries corridor.

"I don't need one," Snape replied quietly. Though Snape did not have need for a blood replenishment potion, neither did he have strength to expend. He made no effort to get up from his position on the ground.

"Professor," Harry began, nervously eyeing the immobile vampire. "We really should get moving."

"Yes," Snape said, but again, he did not move.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Harry questioned again.

Nodding slowly, Snape finally began to move. Not wanting a dispute, Harry didn't ask if he needed help, he simply grabbed hold of his forearm with one hand, pulled him up, and placed the other on his back to steady him as he stood.

It was a good thing he did so, as Snape had not quite regained his equilibrium, and staggered dangerously.

"_Accio_ wand," Harry said, catching Snape's wand as it flew to his command. He handed it back to Snape.

Snape looked sideways at Harry, surveying him thoughtfully.

Adrenaline gone, and soaked through from the lake, Harry sneezed, attempting to suppress a chill.

"You have yet to learn to take care of yourself," Snape said. "Potter, hold still." Though Snape was weak from blood loss, he expended enough magic to perform a drying spell on Harry.

"You'll catch your death of cold," Snape whispered. He swayed slightly, and Harry's hands were again there to steady him. If Snape was annoyed, he didn't say it. He only looked quietly down at Harry, his dark eyes searching the boy's face.

"Can't catch your death from the cold," Harry insisted. "That's an old wives tale."

"Let us hope so," Snape said.

.o.

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.o.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?" Harry inquired softly as they walked together through the forest. He knew that no matter what he had to keep Snape talking. He didn't quite believe that he was okay, in one way or another sensing that Snape was teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Holding fast to Snape's arm, Harry shivered from the aftershock of being wet for so long in the evening air. Secretly glad that Snape needed his support, Harry reveled in the warmth that was pooling between them.

"What is it?" Snape asked softly.

"The vampire said that you were bleeding _before_ he attacked you," Harry said. "Why would he say that?"

"I must have a bruise," Snape said. "I did have a conflict with the broad side of a barn door earlier."

Frowning, Harry didn't quite believe that a bruise, while it was in fact bleeding under the skin, would have lured a vampire right to Snape.

But Snape's silence indicated that the matter was closed to discussion.

"I've never met a vampire before," Harry ventured.

"Not all vampires are like that," Snape said. "Some are quite civilized. However, you should never take one for granted. You never know when their natural tendencies will overtake them."

"Professor," Harry began, uncertain how to broach the subject tactfully.

"Potter," Snape ground out. "For the last time, he did not turn me. I will _not_ become a vampire."

"Okay," Harry said a bit defensively, "just making sure." He paused. "So, how does one become a vampire anyway?"

Snape stumbled, tripping over the uneven forest floor. Harry's strength did not falter, and he was there to keep him from falling.

Snape's eyes were closed, his hand pressed firmly at his brow.

"Dizzy?" Harry asked.

"A bit, yes," he said.

"It's just a little farther," Harry said, recognizing the old stonewall that separated the edge of the property from the woods. "We're almost home."

Snape said nothing more until they were back onto farm property.

"In order to become a vampire, there must be an exchange of blood. In theory, the vampire drains the victim of blood, who then must replenish himself from the vampire or die. Most victims die."

"We were lucky," Harry said.

"Perhaps," Snape replied cryptically.

Harry stole a glance up at him, "You don't think so?"

"Mr. Potter, I believe we make our own luck."

Noisy insects had already begun their nightly song when they finally reached the cottage. Upon spotting them Ajax ran at the pair, barking and jumping up excitedly.

"Okay, okay, Ajax," Harry said, warding the dog off with a wave of his hand. "Good to see you, too, but we've had a rough time."

Ajax circled them once, as if to check for himself that they were all right, then raced off toward the farmhouse.

Pushing open the door, Harry ushered Snape inside, who collapsed gratefully into his armchair. He wondered how much longer Snape could have gone on walking at seeing how fatigued he truly was.

Harry himself felt exhausted now. He was chilled from being wet and his throat was starting to hurt. He needed to ward off this cold before it blossomed.

Stoking the fire with his wand, Harry asked simply, "Tea?"

"All right," Snape said, a hand at his neck gently probing the bite marks. The wound looked ghastly. Dried blood and horrible purple bruising marred the pale line of neck.

"That needs to be cleaned out." As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He hadn't meant to stare at him or to be so brash. "I mean, I could—well, if you want me to--."

Snape didn't say anything. Black eyes bored into him as if gauging his intent. Finally his eyes dropped to the floor, and Harry knew this was the closest thing to consent that he'd ever receive from Snape.

Wand in hand, Harry stood before Snape. He looked up at Harry and something indiscernible flickered across his face.

It suddenly occurred to Harry how this must seem to Snape—the son of the man Snape despised towering over him about to perform a spell that his father had used to humiliate him years earlier.

Harry lowered himself, kneeling on the floor at the foot of Snape's chair. Looking up into his ashen face, Harry whispered, "_Scourgify."_ The spell gently did its work, cleansing the grievous wound.

Inspecting the awful purple bruise and puncture marks on Snape's neck, Harry said, "I wish I knew a good healing spell."

He shifted uncomfortably under Snape's penetrating gaze. "The incantation is _ictus sano_," Snape said at last.

Harry's heart lurched. _But I've never done that one before,_ he thought quickly.

"Ictus sano?" Harry repeated, uncertainty in his voice.

Snape nodded and looked at him expectantly.

_Oh, Merlin, he's going to let me try it on him_, Harry thought panicked.

There was no denying that Snape was putting an extraordinary amount of trust in him, especially considering the nasty remarks he'd made earlier about Harry's ability to perform magic.

He could do this. He just had to focus. Harry breathed deeply to ready himself then spoke clearly, "_Ictus sano!_"

The wound instantly closed and the bruise faded into nothing.

"I did it," Harry said, amazed.

"Don't sound too surprised, Potter. It would be indecent."

Suddenly the teakettle screamed, and Harry rose to silence it. He poured two cups of hot water into a pair of old china cups. Sitting innocuously on the counter next to the container of tea was the jar of honey that Mrs. Brennon had made a gift of.

It would be perfect to soothe Harry's sore throat. He included two heaping spoonfuls of the amber substance into his cup, swirling it around with a spoon until it dissolved.

Returning to the living space, Harry extended a steaming cup to Snape, who accepted it with both hands.

"Thank you," he said, though he transferred the cup to one hand and took up his wand with the other. Summoning a small envelope from atop the mantle, Snape dumped its contents into the cup.

Glaring, Harry questioned, "What's that you've added?"

Snape fixed him with a stare that told him in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business what he added to anything. He did, however, indulge him by saying, "As you must know by now, comfrey root has all kinds of healing properties."

"Oh--right," Harry said dumbly.

Now that things had calmed down and returned to the ordinary, Harry felt displaced. He and Snape were in such a peculiar place right now. Bad tempered arguing about something unimportant somehow turned into saving each other from harm, and then hurting each other with cavalier words or thoughtless magic became caring for each other in the aftermath.

Perhaps it was the repercussion of the exhaustive sequence of events he'd endured today, but Harry was tired of this everlasting dance he perpetuated with Snape. Harry never thought he'd want this, but it was time for a truce. He decided he was going to try harder to get along with the surly Potions master.

This, however, would prove to be quite a challenge—one that was not so easily mastered.

"Potter," Snape said softly breaking Harry's train of thought. "How was it that you happened upon that Lorelei?"

Taken aback, Harry said, "I'm not sure. I heard her a few times before." He studied Snape carefully. "You couldn't hear her at all?"

Snape shook his head briefly and said, "no."

This distressed him. Could it be Voldemort's influence somehow? Had he found them? Was he close by? Harry paced across the living room, walking back and forth in front of Snape's chair.

"Why is it that I could hear her, but you couldn't?" He asked finally. It was best not to jump to conclusions he determined. Snape would surely have a satisfactory answer. "Why did she affect me and not you?"

"It would seem that she's a water siren that preys upon children--."

"I am _not_ a child," Harry ground out. "I'm sixteen for god's sake!" This was his answer? Harry thought furiously.

Snape was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Somewhere, deep inside of you, you are a child still."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape cut him off, holding up his hands to hold him off.

"_Listen_ to me before you fly off the handle, Potter," Snape snapped. He paused to calm himself and to assuage the dizziness of his sudden outburst. "You have had to deal with some very adult things at a young age. You've had to grow up whether you wanted to or not."

Harry did not like where this speech was headed. It was very similar to one that Dumbledore had already given him.

"A part of you is still yearning to be a child," Snape said softly. "That part of you aches for the loss of your parents and the loss of your childhood. The Lorelei preyed upon that vulnerable part of you."

A swell of helplessness expanded Harry's chest. How could Snape presume so much? Even worse-- How did Snape know these things? Harry hadn't even known them until Snape had spoken it aloud this very moment and realized how true they rang.

His emotions were stripped bare, exposed to his most hated Professor and he couldn't bare it if Snape were to ridicule him now.

"I-I'm tired," Harry alleged. Truthfully, he suddenly didn't feel well at all. Sharp pains twisted his gut. "I think I'll turn in."

And without giving Snape a chance to stop him, he retreated to his room.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Snape watched him go not daring to say anything else. He stared at the closed door and knew the hurt Harry was feeling would sting for a long time. Harry would never accept his understanding in this matter, would never allow him to lend a hand of sympathy.

Perhaps it was better this way. What did Snape know of offering comfort? How could he even imagine anything he said to the boy would console him?

No, it was better to keep his distance, let him work it out on his own... even though Snape knew this to be wrong.

To be continued…

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's note:

For those of you who have not finished Half-Blood Prince, I thank you for reading my story and hope to see you next chapter.

The rest of this note contains SPOILERS for HBP. You have been warned.

Well. Here we are, post HBP survivors. After reading book 6, I didn't think I would be able to continue writing this story. I was too crushed.

However, I do plan to continue in defiance of book 6. I guess it's AU from here on out. I will in no way attempt to incorporate HBP into this story, so as you read you may find all sorts of non-compliant circumstances.

I have started a website to support Snape and my belief that all is not what it seems in book 6. There you will find links to essays/conspiracy theories, icons and other goodies. Please sign the guestbook, show that you believe in Severus Snape.

www . oubliettenoir . com / ibelieve . html

The link is also in my bio.

I'm sorry it took me so long to get this one out. It took me three weeks to get over HPB and feel confident enough that I could write again. You can visit my LJ for updates.

www . livejournal . com / users / griseldajane

Thanks for sticking around. See you next chapter.

Li


	19. Secret

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 19

Sleep eluded Harry and all through the night he tangled himself within the sheets of his bed. Nightmares of his parents plagued him— realization that he still ached over losing them. The gash he thought he had closed so long ago still stung like a fresh wound.

He twisted again, bringing his knees into his chest. His stomach hurt, _really_ hurt, and he felt it protest with nausea.

Harry knew he was going to be sick. He stumbled out of bed trying to make his way to the bathroom in the dark. His vision was skewed and dark shapes danced before his eyes.

Unable to gain his bearings, he tripped over something he couldn't see and collided with the floor. Fire churned in his stomach, and Harry curled into himself, trying to find a position that didn't make his insides burn.

He tried to get up but was too weak to move. Harry turned his head and spilled the contents of his stomach onto the floor. If anything, this made the pain spread through his chest, incinerating a path up his throat.

A whimper of discontent escaped him.

Suddenly hands were on him, running along his back, lifting his face from the sick on the floor. Harry struggled to see who it was, but his eyes could not focus through the halos of luminosity surrounding the figure.

Another wave of nausea overtook him and Harry spasmed, retching and heaving whatever was left in his stomach.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Snape woke suddenly, sitting upright in his bed. Something wasn't right; he could feel his instincts screaming. His black eyes were blind in the shadows of the night, but his other senses were keen and discerning in the darkness.

Listening carefully, he heard a weak, plaintive crying.

_Harry_, he thought with a start, and he was on his feet and out of his room before he really thought about what he was doing.

He didn't have to go far to find him. There on the floor between the back bedroom and the bathroom was Harry. He was lying curled in a pool of his own sick.

Swooping down, Snape dropped to his knees beside Harry and rolled him away from the mess on the floor. Summoning his wand to him, he dispelled the mess and leaned down close to evaluate Harry's condition.

"Potter, relax. I'm trying to help you," he said, but Harry, who did not appear to have heard him, remained tense and struggled against him.

It appeared that Harry had come down with a sudden virus, but Snape had a nagging suspicion that it was something else, something that could not be overlooked.

Could Harry have become ill from the Lorelei's lake? Or perhaps the vampire had passed something onto him?

_No_, Snape thought, brow furrowed. _That's unlikely. There's something here that I am failing to see._

Shaking and suffering, Harry whimpered in his misery. Snape levitated him onto his bed, attempting to ease his discomfort.

Snape felt lost for a moment, in unfamiliar territory. He would swear up and down that he didn't have a parental bone in his body, yet seeing that the boy was sick and in obvious agony brought a sense of helplessness that Snape had rarely felt before.

_Assess the symptoms_, Snape directed, giving himself purpose.

The boy was weak and Snape lifted his arm into his hands with no trouble. Turning Harry's wrist gently to take his pulse, Snape felt only a feeble, erratic throb beneath his fingertips.

Harry shook, mumbling incoherently. The boy didn't seem to know Snape was there at all.

_Weakness, low blood pressure, drowsiness, confusion--_

"Potter, what did you take?" he demanded.

Harry lurched suddenly, mumbling something sounding suspiciously like "gonna be sick" and Snape, having little other recourse, summoned a pail just in time for Harry to empty his guts into it.

_--vomiting._

The boy shook, his whole body trembling as he violently heaved.

Impulsively, Snape smoothed his hands over Harry's back in slow, deliberate circles, trying to offer what little soothing he could.

He could give a potion to him, to make him stop—but it was dangerous to treat symptoms without knowing the cause.

Snape thought back to earlier, trying to remember details of the evening, but the encounter with the vampire had weakened him, leaving his mind dull and unfocused.

Harry whimpered in pain, curling into himself, his whole body taught and cramping.

"It will be all right, Potter," Snape said.

Snape loathed to leave him in such a state, but the longer he waited the more damage could be done. "Since you can't tell me I must investigate."

He stood quickly, ignoring Harry's whimper at his absence, and strode into the living room.

In spite of his fatigued state that evening, he couldn't remember Harry ingesting anything in his presence.

_Only the tea_, he though, of which Snape himself had had a cup.

If it had been that, surely he would be just as sick.

_I added comfrey to mine_, he thought, _what did Harry add to his?_

Snape surveyed the kitchen, spying the cups, tea container, and honey jar on the counter.

_The honey_, Snape thought, a thrill of fear stabbing through his chest.

Where had it come from? Neither had he been presented with it, nor had he ever seen Harry take it with his tea.

_Why on earth would he start now?_

Snape summoned it from the counter catching the amber filled jar smoothly as he strode back towards Harry.

"Potter, did you have this?" he asked waving the jar before Harry's eyes, but his question was asked in vain. Harry still hadn't acknowledged him— In fact, he seemed to be hallucinating.

Snape had only one option remaining.

"Harry, I have to leave you, but it will only be for a moment," Snape promised, standing quickly. He glanced back at Harry once, assuring himself that he would be okay by himself, before striding out of the cottage.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Not caring what hour it was, Snape banged loudly on the Brennon's door. Ajax was barking, and Snape knew the little dog was jumping up and pawing on the inside.

A few minutes later, a light was on and Mr. Brennon had the door swung open wide. "Why, Mr. Snape," he began, "it's quite late to be calling."

"I assure you that my presence at your home is of the utmost importance."

"Oh, of course, I—."

Snape had no time for Mr. Brennon's tangents. "What is in this?" Snape asked raising the honey jar before his eyes.

Mr. Brennon fixed him with a peculiar stare, unsure whether he was joking or not. Deciding that Snape was not the joking sort, he said, "Well, that there is honey, Mr. Snape."

"Yes, I _know_ it's _honey_," Snape said his patience being thoroughly tested, "but where did you get it?"

"Mary harvests honey from hives we have right here on the farm," he answered.

"I need to know what plant this came from," Snape insisted.

"How am I to know what the bees do?" Mr. Brennon's tolerance had also worn thin.

"I'll need to talk to your wife, then," Snape fixed him with a black stare. "I'll wait."

"I'm afraid I don't see why this is important at two o'clock in the morning."

"Mr. Brennon," said Snape harshly, despising his need to explain his motives. "Harry has taken very ill and I believe it stems from his ingesting this honey. If I were to treat him without knowing what flower this comes from, the combination could prove to be fatal."

"Oh, my," Mr. Brennon said, finally understanding the gravity of the situation. "I'll get Mary."

He called up to his wife, expecting her to be upstairs asleep, but the old squib woman was lurking on the stair.

She wore a housecoat and a shabby bathrobe thrown carelessly about her shoulders. Clutching it tightly around her, she glanced nervously between her husband and Snape. Her face was grim, but also fixed with purpose.

"Mrs. Brennon," Snape began.

But she cut him off before he could ask her anything. "I know why you're 'ere," she croaked, her accent thick as ever. "The boy—he's sick."

"Yes," Snape said, eyeing her shrewdly.

"Good," she hissed insolently, her arms pulling her robe even tighter, as if to shield herself from any retaliation Snape might dole out for her impudence.

"Mary!" Mr. Brennon exclaimed in surprise. "How can ya say that?"

"Well, I'm glad for it, I am," she said, her voice taking on a hysterical edge. "I only wish I coulda got you both!"

"But Mary," Mr. Brennon breathed. "These are good people--."

"Good people, my eye!" she shrieked. "They are _wizards_—they'd kill us if they didn't need refuge—from their own people at that!"

Snape strode forward, and Mrs. Brennon cowered back, terrified, tripping over the first stair and landing straight down on her backside.

He stopped at her feet, a dark looming figure before her. Mrs. Brennon was so frightened that she was visibly shaking in terror. Snape lowered himself to her level.

"Tell me what's in the honey," he said softly, his voice cool and calm. "I know that you know."

Admittedly, he was too exhausted to perform legilimency, especially without eye contact, and Mrs. Brennon was resolutely not looking at him.

"I had ta—you don't understand—you don't know!" she cried, imploring her husband to understand.

"Oh, Mary, why? He's only a boy," Mr. Brennon replied.

"Only a boy!" she shrieked hysterically. "That didn't stop them from killing our son!"

"What are you talking about Mary?" Mr. Brennon said fearfully. He moved past Snape and sat gingerly beside her on the stairs. "We never had a son."

His wife had never fully recovered from the oppression she suffered at the hands of dark wizards all those years ago. The experience had left her somewhat addled, but she never had gone so far into her delusions as to hurt someone.

She was crying now. "Seventeen years ago when I was a-a-attacked," she began softly. "I was going to have a baby." Her voice faltered as if buckling under the weight of such a secret. "I've never been able to have any children since," she murmured.

"Oh, Mary—" Mr. Brennon whispered. "Oh, my Mary." And he pulled her close, taking her gently into his arms.

"The baby— It coulda been a boy," she said, her voice muffled into his shoulder. "I never told you because I couldn't bear it."

She was staring at something no one else could see, caught up in her own imaginings.

"But we got them back, didn't we?" she continued, obviously insane. "We got the wizarding world's favorite son."

"How did you do it, Mary?" Mr. Brennon said, tears in his eyes. He leaned back, his hold on her shoulders gentle but firm.

"I'd noticed that the bees were drifting where they ought not, and I took what I oughtn't have."

"Mary," Mr. Brennon said carefully. "This is very important—where were the bees?"

"Drifting about the oleander," she said. "I followed them back to the hive. I know I shouldn'ta, but I just thought how useful it might be."

"Oleander—." Snape breathed, his mind already eliminating a list of ingredients that would surely be lethal when combined with the poisonous shrub.

"Is that helpful to you?" Mr. Brennon asked.

Snape nodded, turning quickly to get back to Harry.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Brennon called after him. "For what it's worth, my Mary's not well, but I never though she'd do something like this."

Snape said nothing, nodding curtly, and left.

.o.

.o.

.o.

It was amazing what could be achieved when one had no choice but to succeed. Snape had to make do with the limited supplied he had with him—had to make substitutions that were untested in combination, making the title of Potion's Master accurate in the truest sense.

Though Harry had ingested only a small amount of Oleander—it was one of the deadliest poisons found in nature. He had to work quickly to counteract and reverse any harm that might have already been done. In such a concentrated from as honey, Snape could only hope that the damage wasn't permanent.

As he worked he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that Harry didn't recognize him while he worked in his presence. This confusion troubled him.

Snape paused for a moment while the serum brewed, wiping the sweat from his brow.

He was so tired, feeling as if he hadn't slept the entire summer. Pitfall after pitfall had ensnared him to point where Snape doubted he would ever be able to rest.

Truth be told he hadn't felt himself since _before_… and he very much doubted he would feel quite like himself ever again.

Brewing this potion, resuming a once daily activity, brought some semblance of familiarity to his life and for that he was grateful.

The antidote shimmered softly, an iridescent sheen forming on the surface, and Snape knew it was finished.

.o.

.o.

.o.

When Harry awoke it was as if from a very surreal dream. He felt tired, as tired as if he'd been battling for his life in the Department of Mysteries against a pack of Death Eaters.

He had not been sleeping for very long. Instead he'd existed in some hellish version of reality where everything hurt and everything was distorted and strange.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. The ceiling of his tiny bedroom came into focus. Morning light cut a white path across the flat surface, which danced as the window shutters drifted gently in the breeze.

"You're awake," Snape said softly, making his presence known.

Harry looked as if seeing from the first time. Snape was by his bedside, leaning back in his chair, his face a study in exhaustion.

But Harry sensed a kind of ease within him.

"Do you know what has happened?" Snape asked him.

"I was sick," Harry said. "I really don't remember…"

"You were poisoned, in fact," Snape said and then launched into the whole sordid tale. Harry listened, horrified.

"I knew she didn't like me, but I never suspected that she'd try to kill me."

"It was not so much you—it's that you are a wizard."

"Poor Mrs. Brennon," Harry said.

"_Poor Mrs. Brennon_?" Snape echoed incredulously. "That woman almost killed you, without remorse I might add, and you have the nerve to say _poor Mrs. Brennon?_"

"She obviously needs help--."

"Oh, _not_ your saving people _thing_ again!" Snape snarled. "Honestly, if you say one more word about it I shall hex you myself."

Harry thought that he looked tired enough just to make good on his threat. He decided not to push his luck and kept silent.

"Mr. Brennon has decided to take his wife away from the farm for a little while, and has granted us permission to stay on until I can make other arrangements."

"Other arrangements?" Harry asked.

Snape made an impatient noise. "Can you be this daft?" he asked. "It is unwise to stay in a place where one has nearly succeeded in killing you. Remember that for future reference."

"Can we go back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, ignoring his usual sarcasm.

"The Headmaster has not made contact yet and therefore has not deemed it safe for us to return." Snape answered crisply.

"Where will we go?" Harry questioned softly.

"I'm still working that out," Snape said.

"Which means, you don't know," Harry replied. "Couldn't we just go back?" Harry asked. "Surely, whatever Professor Dumbledore is doing is nearly complete—."

"Do not presume what the Headmaster has planned. It could be his intention that you never return to Hogwarts."

"Is that what he said?" Harry demanded.

"No. I do not know. I do not presume. I only know that he will tell us when it is time to return," Snape said. "Do not think on it, for it is not something you can change. Save your strength for more important things."

Snape rose with difficulty from the chair, placing one hand at his back and the other on his neck, massaging his stiff muscles.

"There is much more I wish to teach you," Snape said, turning to leave, "and for that you will need all your strength."

"Professor?" Harry called. Snape turned back to look at him.

"Thanks. I don't remember much of what happened, but I know you saved me." Harry grinned. "I think you have a 'Harry saving thing'."

He heard a disdainful snort as Snape retreated, but knew that a small smile had passed across his face.

To be continued…

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's note: I'm so thankful and amazed for all the comments and reviews I've received. Everyone's support of this story has been just wonderful and I truly can't thank you all enough.

The past few months have been nothing short of crazy for me personally, not that I update all that quickly anyway :P but still I try and will continue to try.

If anyone has links to send me for my support snape site oubliettenoir . com / ibelieve . html , then please feel free to e-mail me.

You can visit my LJ for updates (and friend me if you want to).

www . livejournal . com / users / griseldajane

See you next chapter.

Li


	20. Lessons

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 20

Old wooden floorboards creaked softly in gentle protest, alerting Harry to Snape's presence in the room.

"While you are here and cannot storm off," Snape started, coming around to Harry's bedside, "I need to talk to you."

It was the afternoon (or more accurately the early evening) after his ordeal with Mrs. Brennon and the oleander honey. Harry felt a lot better, but he was tired and could feel the fatigue settling deep in his bones.

Snape had a no-nonsense look about him, which meant that he was most likely _not_ going to let Harry sleep through the rest of the day.

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked, just barely keeping the dread from his voice.

"There is much for us to do and perhaps not enough time in which to do it— we can no longer afford to waste such a precious commodity," Snape said quietly.

The sincerity of his words surprised Harry. It occurred to him that Snape must have been thinking about this when he was waiting by his bedside for the oleander-induced delirium to break.

"You have fantastic magical ability lying dormant within you," Snape continued. "You also have an uncanny vulnerability that leaves you _prone_ to trouble."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Snape silenced him with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look. "You need to find a sense of balance within your emotion, for that is the stem of your untapped power, and your susceptibility. When you do, that latent magic will come effortlessly to you whenever you find yourself, and undoubtedly you will, in trouble."

So unprepared was he for this type of frankness from Snape, Harry gaped at him for several minutes before finding his voice. "You've got this all figured out, don't you?"

"Yes," Snape answered simply. "This is what we will work on for the duration—balancing you."

Harry scoffed—as if it was that easy. As if Snape, who, as far as Harry was concerned, had been unable to teach him a blasted thing about potions or occlumency, could possibly teach him anything about maintaining equilibrium.

"Yeah. Right," Harry said, each word clipped.

Black eyes fixed keenly upon him, but Harry was determined not to look.

"You want to know what your biggest pitfall is, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked. "You have neither discipline nor restraint. No control over yourself." Snape went on, "it's as if everything you do is only followed through by sheer luck."

"It's not an easy thing, you know," Harry retorted. "Everything happens so fast—."

"That is an excuse. No one said that achieving greatness is easy." Snape unexpectedly sat forward in his chair, as animated as Harry had ever seen him. "You have such _potential, _the makings of excellence are well within your grasp, and yet—," he paused suddenly remorseful, "and yet it will never be fully realized as long as you lack control."

Harry sighed, stubbornly holding onto his righteous pride. Having Snape sit there and lecture him about control and balance—as if he actually cared about him—

Suddenly Snape grew angry, his furor clearly written on his face. "Why must you always resist me? Why must everything be a battle?"

"You tell me all these things—how I lack discipline, but you never present me with answers!" Harry snapped, "How do I gain this control that I lack?"

It was a challenge, and Harry regretted it the moment he said it. The roguish look in Snape's eyes told him in no uncertain terms that Snape would see to it that he won this challenge.

"I will teach you," Snape said, "Be warned— I will not tolerate less than your prefect attention."

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Harry thought, settling back into his pillow.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Harry thought that Snape would give him a day to rest but that was not, in fact, the case. Instead, he set up a potions lab in the kitchen, which was waiting for Harry when he came down for breakfast.

The blaze warmed his face as Harry entered the room. The small space filled with the heat of the lit cauldron, which was set on the kitchen table. The magical flame heated the cauldron, but did not burn the table.

The flickering fire cast soft orange light throughout the room, creating a deceptively comfortable atmosphere.

Despite how it seemed, Harry knew there was nothing comfortable about potions, especially when given a private session with the Potion's Master himself.

_Wasting no time, I see_, Harry thought as, dismayed, he glared at Snape.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter," Snape growled. "Put your eyes back in your head."

"Ah, Professor…" Harry began. "I don't think I need to tell you that I'm not any good at potions."

"Not any good?" Snape said, "You're _abysmal_— I'd dare say that a mountain troll could do better."

"Look, it's not like I had a lot of help—."

"You know, there _are_ students at Hogwarts who do achieve outstanding in my class," Snape replied.

"So that's not a myth," Harry joked. "You have given O's!"

Snape just looked at him, obviously not amused. "Enough stalling, Potter," Snape replied. "Let us begin."

It was a bad start— no, not bad. Bad didn't even begin to describe it. It was an _atrocious_ start— one of Harry's worst potion's classes to date. Old habits were difficult to break, and they fell back into their all too familiar potions routine: Snape the impatient dictator and Harry his inept subject.

Within a half hour they were both agitated and grating on each other's nerves. Harry had not brought a single step of the potion up to Snape's inflexibly high standards.

"Stop! Stop!" Snape said incredulously. "What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm trying to make this dreadful sleeping potion you set me," Harry snapped with a frustrated wave of his wand, gesturing to the open potions book.

"The potion is not dreadful. Your potion brewing skills are," Snape clarified.

"You're not giving me any instruction!" Harry blurted out in a burst of frustration. "Obviously I'm not getting it!"

"The instructions are very clear—."

"No, they are _not_!" Harry protested. "I'm following them the best that I can, yet I still can't produce the desired results."

Snape glared at him, clearly frustrated by Harry's lack of understanding, yet considered his words.

"_Evanesco_," Snape spoke and Harry's mess of a potion disappeared. "Move," he growled.

Harry scrambled out of the way to allow Snape access to the makeshift potions set up.

"Observe," he said simply, "and learn."

Harry leaned against the tabletop, skeptical that Snape would do anything that he hadn't done every potion's class since his first year at Hogwarts.

Snape did not need to refer to the book, yet kept it open most likely for Harry's benefit. Harry watched as he prepared the potion and was actually downright astonished. The words _subtle science_ and _exact art_ sprung from the recesses of Harry's mind with the careful ministrations of the wizard before him.

Where Harry had seen merely a list of ingredients and sentences with measurements, Snape saw a rhythm there, his movements seemingly dictated by a silent metronome. He made improvisations that were not in the book, but enhanced the potion.

Harry marveled at the dance, marveled that _Snape_, a person who was exceedingly aggrieved and quite stolid, had such undeniable cadence and grace within him. If Snape realized he displayed such a rhythm, he did not show it— moreover, Harry would say he was oblivious to the fact.

When the book said to stir seven times counter clockwise, it did not specify any particular timing, though Harry realized that there must be for where his potion always turned brown, Snape's was a shimmering violet—just as it was supposed to be.

It was indecent of him to be this flabbergasted, Harry knew, especially since looking back in retrospect Snape's potion brewing had always been superior to any wizard Harry had ever met. Remus Lupin, whose monthly maintenance was dependant upon the wolfsbane potion, told Harry that there was no one more qualified to make it than Snape. Considering their history together, this was a significant compliment.

One did not receive the title of master for being merely mediocre.

"Are you paying attention, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked without looking up from the cauldron.

"Yes," Harry said, hastily retreating from his musings. "I am."

"Good," Snape said. "For I will be quizzing you afterwards."

Wishing he'd thought to write down his observations, Harry set to memorize what he saw. When Snape was finished he took a flask full and banished the rest.

"Now that I have demonstrated, I expect no less than perfect, Mr. Potter," he said gesturing to the cauldron.

Of course, it wasn't a perfect brew, but neither student nor teacher could deny the vast improvement over the last batch (even if the color was more of an eggplant shade than violet).

"What did you do differently?" Snape remarked.

"Well," Harry began, a sly smile pulling at his lips, "I danced."

"You-you _what?_" Snape sputtered, clearly unsuspecting such a reply.

With devious glee, Harry explained his observations of Snape's technique, knowing that Snape would be positively _indignant_ in the most amusing and entertaining sort of way.

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever—." Snape began.

"So you deny that you have a natural rhythm for potion making?" Harry asked with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

"Perhaps over the years I've fallen into a pattern or a routine—."

"If that's what you want to call it," Harry said with a smirk. "But _I_ know the truth."

It was a momentous occasion; Harry was teasing Snape and Snape, it seemed, was letting him.

"_You_ are the most _irritating_ boy!" Snape ground out, jabbing his finger at Harry's chest. Though his words were gruff, his intent was not.

Harry's grin widened as Snape tried to maintain his indignant dignity; though it was clear he was amused.

They had crossed a bridge in their relationship but had not mutually known it until this very moment. This notion occurred to both teacher and student and it disarmed them.

"So what's next, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Dost my ears deceive me? You, _Harry Potter_, want _more_ potions?" Snape said with mock astonishment. "Just remember, you asked for it."

There was a sense of ease and intimacy about him. A piece of home had been found in this makeshift lab. Snape was probably as relaxed as he'd ever been all summer, and it heartened Harry to witness it.

Snape continued to give Harry potions assignments and while the boy clearly was not naturally talented at potions, his rising progress was remarkable. Snape had finally figured out that Harry, it seemed, learned best by example.

It was well into the afternoon when Snape told Harry that they had done enough for the day.

"I could do another," Harry said. He was actually beginning to enjoy potions, now that he could see an improvement in his work, and Snape wasn't being so overbearing that it broke his concentration (as he usually was in Potions class). "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

Snape laughed quietly. "You've made progress," he admitted, "but let us end for today."

Harry nodded in agreement and Snape banished the potions equipment with a wave of his wand. As Harry retreated back to his room he heard the sound of the teakettle rising to its hook in the fire.

_Snape must be tired_, Harry thought, closing the door behind him. _Must have wanted a break, especially after all he's been through the last few days_.

They had both been through a lot this summer, he and Snape. Snape had helped him out of nearly more predicaments than Ron or Hermione had. Harry realized that they had somehow come to terms with each other— the way they teased each other earlier proved it. Of course, they still bickered and disputed, but Harry had come to understand that the motivations behind Snape's actions were not driven by contempt—at least not now anyway.

Snape _pushed_ him, got angry with him, and even taunted him because he _cared_ about Harry. Somewhere along the way Snape's watchful eye had changed incentive from loyalty to Dumbledore to actual concern for his wellbeing.

Somewhere along the way, Harry had changed too.

.o.

.o.

.o.

The next day Harry thought would also be devoted to potions, however, Snape informed him that they were moving on to other studies.

"Dueling," he said, "and then Occlumency."

Graying, Harry managed to squeak, "so soon?" He'd been dreading the day when his Occlumency lessons would resume. Things had been going fairly well with Snape, but Harry knew that Occlumency would ruin the good course their relationship had taken.

"Soon?" Snape hissed. "This has been the goal for weeks and yet we have not done so adequately."

It was a temperate afternoon with a soft breeze sifting through the cracks in the rickety wooden boards that shaped the barn, though Harry was grateful for his red Gryffindor jacket. The old framework was held together with little more than Irish luck and termites. Harry was endlessly amazed that the entire structure didn't collapse on top of the two of them whenever they came in to perform magic. Sometimes he thought that the barrier spell not only kept the magic in but also kept the roof up over their heads.

Harry found himself facing Snape with his wand drawn. He willed himself to relax and _focus_—and was no sooner wandless and at Snape's mercy.

"This isn't working," Snape said handing Harry his wand. "I do not wish a repeat performance of last time." Last time, of course, being when his anger had nearly sent Snape through the barn door.

"You think?" Harry muttered, feeling the annoyance rise to color his cheeks.

Choosing to ignore his impudence, Snape stood beside Harry. "We need a new approach."

Looking around he spied an old worn out tire among a pile of forgotten junk in the corner.

Suddenly it came to life rolling crookedly (for it was terribly warped) towards them. It paused, and then Snape transfigured it into a wild beast— a creature with three heads: in the front part a lion, in the rear a serpent, and in the middle a goat.

"What the heck _is_ that _thing_?" Harry gasped.

The creature blinked in confusion then stomped its feet looking angrily at Harry.

"It's a chimera," Snape said, nonchalantly.

"It's a _what?_" Harry asked, gaping at the raging creature. It roared and paced back and forth.

"Defend yourself, Potter," Snape shouted stepping backward, leaving Harry to fight the creature alone.

Harry started at the creature, horrified, realizing that it was coming straight towards him. The Chimera could neither be reasoned with nor could it hurl insults. It was intent on tearing Harry in two, and Snape was content to let it, watching keenly as Harry fought to protect himself.

Harry willed himself to forget Snape's presence, focusing on the task at hand as if he were back in the Tri-Wizard tournament or in the Department of Mysteries or the room of Requirement.

Harry dove out of the way, letting the Chimera charge past him. The thing seemed angry and after Harry for no reason. There was no "weapons expelling" hex that would disarm it, for the creature's rage was the weapon. He sent a stunning spell at the Chimera, but with the agility of a gazelle it leaped over the bolt.

Had he been facing a dementor, Harry would have known exactly the spell to vanquish the beast, but a Chimera was different and he could not remember Hagrid covering them in his Care of Magical Creatures class (though they certainly were exactly the types of creatures that Hagrid liked— dangerous).

Something was coming to the surface of his brain, however. Ron had said something once about a Quidditch player who was killed by a chimera… what else was there?

The creature's snake head came whipping around snapping at Harry, who narrowly avoided getting a bite taken out of his arm.

Then he remembered— _the color red!_ Harry thought. Hermione had cut in, saying that it was unlucky that the player was wearing his Quidditch team robes that included a red stripe down both sleeves. The Chimera was unfailingly attracted to the color red—the same color as his jacket.

Suddenly as if a veil had been lifted, he saw clearly what he had to do, a strategy forming in his head. Harry pulled it over his head and tossed it far away. The Chimera was momentarily fooled and went viciously after the jacket, scratching it to bits.

"_Stupifiy_!" Harry shouted and the creature fell over reverting back to an old warped tire.

"Interesting," Snape commented.

"What?" Harry asked, frowning. He'd defended himself admirably if he did say so himself.

"It seems that your ability to concentrate depends upon your opponent," Snape said, folding his arms. "Or perhaps it is how you feel about me that affects you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You get _angry_ with _me_, Potter. Anger is an emotion that clouds your ability to think quickly and make sound decisions," Snape explained. "What were you thinking of when you faced the Chimera?"

"I didn't want to get mauled!" Harry said.

"Beyond that," Snape snapped. "Were you frightened? You certainly were not angry."

"No, I wasn't afraid."

"Notice that you did not respond to the Chimera with an outburst of potent magic— though you could have had you been emotional. I know that the magic is there within you. It's dangerous—."

"I could explode at any moment?" Harry asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"In a manner of speaking— yes," Snape said. "We are going to try to tap into some of that dormant magic—develop it—help you to control it so one day the power will come to you when you call it and not every time you are upset."

The next lessons with Snape proved to be the most grueling to date. They were strength-training sessions for the mind. Snape demanded that Harry do simple spells without speaking the incantation, and then when he showed aptitude in that—told him to try it without his wand.

Harry protested then, for even the most advanced wizards had to use a wand.

"There is simple magic, hand magic, that can be done wandlessly. You've already done _flagrate_," Snape reminded him. "Now, try _lumos._"

It was like being a first year all over again. Harry concentrated hard on the candle in front of him. He pictured a lit flame, its soft glow illuminating the room. Nothing happened.

Aggravated, Harry stared intently at the candle. _Lumos_, he thought furiously. _Lumos!_

Suddenly the wax splattered across the table, spraying white bits down the entire length, but fortunately its spurt dwindled before it could reach Snape who was standing at the other end.

"Well," Harry began with a sheepish grin, "At least I got it to do _something_."

"Your focus is not sharp," Snape commented, clearly not amused, "thus the splattered wax."

"But I was concentrating--." Harry protested.

"Thinking about the object is not the same thing as focused concentration— Instead," Snape said placing a new candle on the table, "imagine that _you_ are the flame, that you are reaching out and are touching the wick. _Embody_ the action."

Harry stared at the candle again. He tried to imagine how light must feel, that he was as loose and carefree as a flickering flame; he believed that he could light that candle—with an outstretched arm he waved his hand—the candle ignited, burning brightly for a second before melting into a hot puddle of wax.

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

"That was… _satisfactory_," Snape commented. "Though you still let your emotions overpower your control— you ignited the wick, became excited that you succeeded and that surge of emotion liquefied the candle."

Another candle appeared. "Try another."

This time Harry lit the candle with no trouble.

"I did it!" Harry exclaimed.

"Good," Snape said. "Try another." And so it went until Harry had exhausted the entire box of candles.

"Now we shall try something more advanced," Snape said. "Face me."

Harry did as he was told.

"Disarm me with a silent _expelliarmus_," Snape commanded.

"We're moving on to that?" Harry asked. "I thought we'd at least try _accio_ first."

"Mr. Potter, I believe that _I_ am the teacher and _you_ are the student," he said dryly. "You are ready for this. I will not attempt to resist— _yet_," Snape said. "You just have to remove my wand."

Harry felt a thrill of apprehension. He was more nervous about this task than the candle lighting exercise, feeling pressure to get it right from the start. After several unsuccessful tries Harry exclaimed, "I can't! It's too advanced."

"Mr. Potter, you must," Snape said unsympathetically. "If you cannot disarm me, how ever do you expect to overcome the Dark Lord and his followers?"

Of course, Snape was right. Setting his jaw, Harry focused as he had with the candle exercise. Suddenly, Snape's wand flew from his hand and found its way to Harry.

Harry stared at the wand, dumbfounded.

"It seems, Mr. Potter, that you've just achieved both an incantationless _expellarimus_ and an _accio_."

"I can't believe it," Harry mumbled.

"Try," Snape said wryly, "For you're about to do it again."

This continued until Harry could repeat those spells within seconds.

.o.

.o.

.o.

_Everything was bleached white and blue, like on old photograph discolored from years of exposure to the sun. He couldn't see clearly, his eyes refusing to focus. He raced down a narrow corridor; the close-set walls were closing in on him. The stones beneath his feet were shifting, dropping out as he ran. Something slick and wet made him slip and Harry went crashing down. He scrambled back to his feet, wiping the dark liquid from his forearms as he ran, and realized with sick horror that it was blood that stained him, the dark trail marking a path in front of him. Harry reached the door, white erupting as he broke through the threshold._

_On the floor a dark shape lay sprawled…_

Harry started awake. After a long day of lessons, Harry had collapsed onto his mattress and fell instantly asleep.

Breathing hard, he sat up in his bed. This was not the first time he had had that dream. Unease churned his stomach. Harry couldn't trust his dreams. He'd dreamed of current events and things that had never happened at all.

Was this something that had happened, or was it a false dream? Perhaps it was a vision of things yet to come? Or maybe it was just a dream. Couldn't Harry just have an ordinary dream for once?

_No_, he thought dismayed. Coldness spread through him to his bones. Harry pulled the blanket tighter around him.

_I should tell Snape_, but even as he thought this, cobwebs were already forming in his mind and the details had faded into the darkness from which they had sprung.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Tension accumulated at his temple and it hurt to think. The awful pattern that seemed to befall Harry in the previous sessions dictated that he and Snape would clash again and indeed they did.

Occlumency proved to be just as exasperating as it had been before. If Snape knew another way of teaching Harry the fine art of protecting one's mind from external penetration, he did not demonstrate it.

Time and time again Harry found himself on his knees as flashes of old memories replayed for Snape to see.

"Give me a minute, will you please?" Harry snapped as he pushed himself up from the dirt floor.

"The Dark Lord will not--."

"You are not Voldemort!" Harry shouted, sick of Snape reminding him what he was up against as if he had somehow forgotten the past fifteen years of his life as the boy who lived.

Snape raised his eyebrows but did not comment further. He folded his arms impatiently, allowing Harry a short break to recover his bearings.

Massaging the pressure in his brow, Harry said, "This really isn't working."

"It's not working because you are resisting me," Snape replied.

"Of course I'm resisting you—you're trying to break into my mind!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he ground out, his voice scathing.

Temper quickly rising, Harry faced him and said in an accusing tone, "Is this how _you_ learned occlumency?"

"Isn't that just like you," Snape remarked. "You think that because it's hard that I'm being hard on you." He sneered, outwardly showing his distaste.

Harry stared at him, his anger waylaid with curiosity. "Who taught you occlumency?" Harry asked, interested to know the answer ever since his first lesson with Snape. In the beginning he had assumed that Dumbledore himself had taught him, but now he was not so sure of that.

Snape answered him with a cold stare that told him to mind his own business.

Harry wanted to push the issue. He wanted to know exactly how Snape had learned occlumency and why. The highly personal nature of this sort of magic made broaching the subject with Snape forbidden.

"Clear your mind," was the only instruction that Snape gave him despite Harry's repeated pleas for more instruction than that simple directive.

Again and again Harry's memories were laid bare for Snape to see and this happening transported him right back to Snape's cold dungeon office. Those unpleasant nights were some of the most miserable Harry had spent at Hogwarts.

"Get up, Potter," Snape said, his voice tired and irritated. "You've made no progress today. In fact, I think you've regressed. You _must_ focus and clear your mind."

As Harry pushed himself to his feet, fury flared up within him. He _was_ trying, why couldn't Snape see that?

With Snape's refusal to discuss his own Occlumency experiences, combined with his utter lack of coaching and scathing remarks, Harry's old feelings of resentment and loathing toward the Potion's Master were easily rekindled.

A familiar heated-prickling shocked up Harry's spine.

"Again, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "_Legilimens!_"

Harry faced Snape, but something was different this time. Before Harry realized what was happening, a rush of white-hot energy surged through him. The magic felt as if it was searing Harry's bones and he could do nothing to stop it from crashing headlong into Snape.

Too fast to distinguish, suddenly Harry was flooded with Snape, his memories scraping past painfully, like nerve-endings being ripped apart. Desperately trying to stop this mind ravage, Harry tried to find something to ground him.

He knew it was all in his head—in Snape's head.

_Stop!_ Harry commanded himself. But instead of returning back to his senses, it felt as if Snape's defenses had ruptured, like ice buckling on a lake, and Harry fell through the gap, and into a single memory that was not his own…

A man with long white-blond hair thrust a teenaged Snape back against the wall. Lucius Malfoy, in his twenties, grabbed both of Snape's wrists in his hands, his strength overpowering a young Snape.

There was a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of Snape's mouth and a bruise darkening on his cheek.

Lucius smiled, leaning his body forward as Snape shrunk as far back as he could into the unyielding wall.

"Lucius, _don't--_," Snape protested. But it was obvious that the older man had no intention of backing down.

"Shhh," Lucius hushed, a simpering leer curving his features.

He brought his face forward, studying the reddening contusion he'd made, his countenance resembling an expression close to pleasure. Snape's eyes were shut tightly, drawn together as if by blocking out the image he could also block out the act that was to follow.

Lucius' pale eyes swept up his face. "The Dark Lord said you had to pay your dues," he said with a sardonic smile, then licked the blood slowly from Snape's chin. He moved his lips to Snape's ear and whispered, "_Crucio_."

Harry was suddenly expelled from Snape's mind with a desperate lurch from Snape. He staggered back, as did Snape, both reeling from the wrathful surge magic.

At a loss, words hardly able to form after the scene he just witnessed, Harry looked over at Snape who was prone on his hands and knees, head bent so low to the ground that his forehead nearly touched it.

It was a very traumatic memory-- possibly repressed-- that Harry had unwittingly accessed.

"Lucius Malfoy, he-- did he--," but Harry broke off unable to even _think_ it let alone _say_ it out loud. "…Professor?"

But Snape didn't say anything. White as a corpse, he sat back on his heels.

Harry moved to help him up, but before he could touch him Snape moved back quickly, recoiling away from the contact.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, but the words sounded feeble and pathetic in relation to the damage he had done.

"Enough for today," Snape whispered. Though his voice was firm and steady, Harry noticed that his hands were trembling.

Before Harry could say anything else, Snape swept from the barn disappearing into the black night.

To be continued…

.o.

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.o.

Author's note: Happy December!

What can I say? Since my last chapter posting, a lot has happened in my life that has eaten away at my free time.

This is not an excuse. There's no excusing such an atrocious delay. I'm just letting you know that I haven't forgotten about this story and I fully intend to finish it.

Did anyone notice that this was a double chapter? My longest yet! (I think.)

If anyone has links to send me for my support snape site oubliettenoir . com / ibelieve . html , then please feel free to e-mail me.

You can visit my LJ for updates (and friend me if you want to).

www . livejournal . com / users / griseldajane

See you next chapter.

Li


	21. Fight

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

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Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 21

Those dizzying first steps towards the cottage filled Harry with horror. His limbs felt heavy as he walked, laden with the weight of what his anger had done— what _he_ had done.

_I know that the magic is there within you. It's dangerous—_ Snape's words rang in his ears. He had tried to warn him about the danger—and what had Harry done? He'd lost his temper and in turn hurt Snape in a way he'd never imagined he could.

That memory imprisoned inside of Snape had been like a piece of glass buried deep within, and Harry, without any warning, had ripped it up to the surface.

He had never meant to hurt him— Harry had no idea the magic would erupt in such a violent manner.

What did that matter now that the harm was already inflicted? It did not take a wizard's power to feel the raw anguish that Snape suffered in the wake of this remembrance.

Snape might think that Harry had made a deliberate effort to access such an upsetting memory to hurt him on purpose. After what he had just witnessed, Harry knew this sort of tactic must have been used on him in the past.

He couldn't let this incident pass without talking to him and making him understand that it had been an accident.

_Snape must understand that I never intended to hurt_ _him_, Harry thought resolutely, his mind made up.

Actually conveying this to Snape was another matter entirely.

Brimming with an odd combination of lethargy and dread, Harry peered cautiously through the doorway of the cottage.

He felt cold and coldness emanating from within the small dwelling.

"Professor?" he asked, stepping into the room.

In the darkened room, Snape sat on the edge of his chair, shoulders hunched with his arms wrapped about his middle as he stared unblinkingly at the floor obviously preoccupied in thought.

This image struck Harry hard— so very un-Snape-like, he looked consequently vulnerable and lost, his behavior reflecting that of the memory.

A tremor of fright ran though Harry— what if the wild magic had confused Snape's mind? What if he thought this moment now was actually all those years ago?

"Professor Snape?" Harry tried again, coming into the room and around to the front of the chair. Snape did not look at him, but his gaze shifted, though still focused on the floorboards.

That was a good sign as far as Harry was concerned. At least Snape was aware of his presence and not completely lost.

Silence filled up the space between them. His mouth was dry and Harry didn't know how to start. Words seemed inadequate.

Kneeling on the floor at Snape's feet, Harry peered into his face, which upheld none of the facade it usually did. He was struggling, plagued by inner torment that Harry could see plainly etched in the lines of his face.

Forced to keep everything in, to essentially block everyone out with the impassive mask of blank features and nearly dead black eyes, Snape did not know _how_ to cope. He buried things. For all the years that he was a spy if his true feelings had became known it could have meant his death. Harry guessed that even before he turned spy he never allowed himself to show his emotions. Snape himself had told him that emotions made you weak.

Compelled by an impulse that defied reason, Harry gently slid his hand along Snape's forearm, traversing the long sleeve of fabric until it rested upon the bare skin of Snape's exposed hand.

As he had in the barn Snape jerked back, recoiling away from his touch, but Harry held fast to his hand. Snape glanced at him, his black eyes wide and frenetic.

It was clear to Harry that while he was aware of him, Snape's mind was addled— ensnared in his awful memories. Though it was Harry who held him, Snape undoubtedly saw Lucius' hand gripped around his own.

It was up to Harry to make Snape come back to the present.

He squeezed Snape's hand gently. "Hey," Harry whispered. "Look at me." Snape's eyes darted from Harry's hand to his face and back to the floor. He pressed them shut tightly as if to block out the demons in his head.

"Professor," Harry said, "You're here and now…" He smiled softly and added, "…with me. Leave the rest behind. They're just shadows of the past. They can't hurt you anymore, not if you don't let them."

He didn't know if his words would be enough, but he hoped that Snape would understand, if not through words then through his touch. Harry brought his other hand on top of the one he already clasped, capturing Snape's hand between his two. His grasp was gentle but firm. Harry was confident that it was drastically different from any sort of touch Lucius Malfoy had ever dealt him.

Harry waited.

It was quite a few minutes before Snape opened his eyes, but when he finally did he focused his gaze on him and Harry knew that he was back in this world.

"I'm sorry I made you remember that," Harry said softly. And he was sorry. Harry had lots of memories he'd rather forget but for every unpleasant one he had, Snape had two.

"I didn't— I didn't know," Harry continued. "I never, _ever_ intended for that to happen."

Glittering in the evening light, Snape's eyes had a haunted, far-away look to them. He nodded slowly. He understood.

"Death Eaters do terrible things," Snape whispered. "Even to each other."

Harry nodded grimly. He had no doubt that was true. Harry had experienced their cruelness first hand. He'd witnessed how fast they turn on one another, too.

Exhausted, Snape sat back in the chair and Harry let his hand slide from his grasp. He looked at Harry, studying him for a moment before asking, "Are _you_ alright, Potter?"

Harry gave him a puzzled look as if to say _of course_ I'm _okay_ and replied, "Why wouldn't I be?" _I'm not the one who had his mind ravaged_.

"You don't even realize how powerful you are," Snape said softly. A pained look of resentment and awe crossed his features. "A wizard of _sixteen_ possessing such magic as this."

"It wasn't _that_ strong," Harry asserted before asking, "was it?" The magic _had_ overtaken him, but he thought that perhaps Snape was exaggerating a bit.

Snape snorted and replied, "Potter, may you never be on the receiving end."

"I'm really sorry," Harry apologized once more. "I won't let it happen again."

"This will be one of many incidents," Snape said almost too matter-of-factly. Upon seeing the outraged look on Harry's face he added, "It's not something that can be helped, Potter. You have to learn and I have to teach you."

Though Harry wanted to deny it up and down, in the end Snape would turn out to be very, very right.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Lessons became more dangerous for both student and teacher. Snape was convinced that the dormant magic within Harry would be the key to defeating Voldemort.

All that practice Harry had done without using a wand had actually intensified his understanding of magic. Now that Snape was allowing him to use his wand again Harry was amazed by the ease with which he could command magic. He could also push himself further now; every spell he knew contained more power.

The intensity scared him sometimes— especially when he witnessed the impact it had on others.

Dueling was quickly becoming a harrowing activity for Harry. Initially, he had looked forward to it. Having spent all those nights with the DA, not to mention his own experiences with dark wizards, Harry felt confident in his defense talents. He knew that it was vital that his dueling skills were superior to any Death Eater he might encounter and, of course, Voldemort himself.

Snape knew this, too, which is why he withheld _nothing_ during their sparring. The only trick he never tried was using Unforgivables on him (and Harry thought part of his restraint was that he was waiting to see if Harry himself would use them first.)

In the beginning, Harry had been taken aback by the ferocity of Snape's attacks, even though Snape had warned him that he would hold nothing back. It took a while for Harry to come to terms with this and not take it personally.

Time and time again Harry found himself wandless or out-maneuvered at the hands of Snape.

Snape would stand over him after knocking him to the ground and scoff, "He who hesitates is lost, Potter," but then he would always extend his hand and offer Harry help.

His black eyes would sweep over him, silently assessing, making sure that Harry was all right. This coldness coupled with caring sent mixed messages to Harry until he finally came to accept it.

It was Snape's silent yet kind gesture that reassured Harry. He was tough on him because he wanted him to be the best…

_He cares about me_, Harry thought. It was this that allowed Harry to be merciless…

Their dueling became more intense after that. Harry no longer backed down from Snape, knowing that he would not hesitate to use every opportunity to stop him. They fought aggressively against each other, and the sparring never ended unless one had no options left or had become injured.

A formidable opponent, Snape smoothly avoided being struck time and time again, however, it was impossible for him to remain unscathed in the difficult business of teaching Harry to control his unwieldy, newfound power.

Sometimes Harry simply could not restrain the strong magic he had developed. It was akin to harnessing a hurricane. The magic fought to separate from Harry and emerge freely where it willed. Escaping his grasp, despite Harry's desperate struggle for control, the white-hot surge of energy would crash recklessly into Snape.

"_Better_," Snape would murmur just before falling back, unmistakably shaken. Guilt-ridden Harry charged over to him, wanting to provide the same care that Snape had shown him, only to be dismissed.

Harry wanted so much to repair the damage he had caused and it hurt him that Snape, despite all that had happened, _still_ refused his help, _still_ refused to show him weakness when Harry had proved his strength and devotion ten times over.

Snape's pride was a daunting obstacle that would be the most challenging to overcome.

This led to _the_ _argument_…

.o.

.o.

.o.

"I refuse," Harry stated insolently. He stared stone-faced at Snape, his mind resolutely made up. He would no longer be any part of this.

"Potter, this is absurd!" Snape hissed, clearly furious.

This was the angriest that Snape had been with Harry in a long time. A thrill of nervousness ran through him, but Harry stood firm.

"Every time we duel, I hurt you," Harry retorted, throwing his arms up in the air. "I'm not going to do it anymore!"

Though Snape would refute it, the proof of his malaise was undeniable.

The evidence was the open window in the kitchen, left ajar to air out the mark of a thornapple cigarette smoked in secret; it was in the way Snape's breath hitched after an expenditure of magic; it was the coughing at night and the slow pacing until the fit subsided… these things Harry noticed.

"I don't see what choice you have," Snape said. "You can neither defuse nor ignite this magic within you. It will emerge and swallow you whole. _You must learn_."

"Not from you," Harry hissed, his voice quiet with rage.

Snape surveyed him without an ounce of sympathy. "If not me, then who?" he pressed.

Harry remained determinedly silent. He didn't like where this was going.

"Who would you jeopardize in my place?" Snape asked him. "Which of your friends would you risk harming because of your ineptitude? Give me a name."

"That's not fair," Harry snapped, glaring at him. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"A name, Mr. Potter!" Snape snarled.

Incredulously, Harry asked, "You'd make me choose? You or someone else? I suppose you think you're expendable, do you? An noble _martyr_ in the arduous schooling of The Boy Who Lived?"

"Perhaps you're in your next Defense class and your magic erupts at your dueling partner, Miss Granger?" Snape posed to him, ignoring Harry's barb. "Or maybe it's simply entering the Gryffindor common room that your magic blindsides Mr. Weasley?" Snape's words stabbed at the heart of Harry's greatest fears—becoming a perilous danger to those around him.

What would he do if he hurt one of his friends? How could he ever forgive himself? But if something happened to Snape—

"Fine! Have it your way!" Harry shouted, knowing that he would not win this battle. He had no choice. "Be the consequences on your head."

.o.

.o.

.o.

The next few days were tense between them. Though neither brought up dueling or Death Eaters or magic or anything else that might remind them of the argument, it lurked just below the surface, very much in the forefront of their minds.

Surprisingly, Snape left Harry alone for a few days, not insisting that they spar or even have lessons of any kind.

This was both a blessing and a curse. Harry was glad for the rest and the avoidance of confrontation, but it left plenty of time for thought, speculation and suspicion.

He watched Snape with the scrutiny of an assassin, calculating every move Snape made trying to figure if his actions added up to injury.

It was impossible to tell. Snape knew Harry was watching him. Having been a spy for over a decade, Snape knew exactly how to become inscrutable, frustrating all of Harry's detective skills.

As he had done previously when he was upset or aggravated, Harry traversed around the wide area of farmland. One foot carefully placed in front of the other, he walked slowly along the top of the stone fence at the perimeter. Spending the downtime mulling around the farm, Harry wondered if Snape had found a new place for them to hide. He hadn't mentioned it since the first time he'd brought it up.

So much had happened here that Harry discovered he might actually miss this place. The Brennon's farm did have a quiet and peaceful atmosphere (despite the misadventures Harry had found there) unlike the frenzied pace of Hogwarts. His life there seemed like years ago now, as if Harry had aged decades in the short summer months.

The ancient castle was the first place Harry had ever considered to be his home and he did want to return to it.

What would Hogwarts be like now? Why did Harry feel a thrill of nervousness at the thought of being back inside its massive stone walls?

_What if things change back to the way they were?_ Harry thought. _What if he forgets all about this summer—what if he goes back to hating me?_

This was a valid fear lingering in the back of Harry's consciousness. He and Snape were by no means best friends, but their relationship had drastically changed. Respect for one another had grown and a sort of kinship had developed between them.

It was strange. He didn't consider Snape to be the same sort of friend that Ron or Hermione was to him, but Harry wanted to share just as many things with Snape, however different, if not more than he would with any of his Hogwarts buddies.

The precise word suddenly struck him, seizing him by the heart.

_Comrade._ This word meant many things to Harry; a person you can trust, a companion who shares your experiences, someone who is down in the trenches fighting the same war you are, someone who knows, someone who cares— Snape had come to be all these things to Harry.

_He's also a temperamental, stubborn, stern, cynical, disparaging, contemptuous hook-nosed, greasy-haired git_, Harry thought with affection. He had to accept his friendship with the flaws.

But would their alliance survive the prejudice of Hogwarts? The head of Slytherin house and the Golden boy of Gryffindor found fraternizing— it just wasn't done.

Harry could enroll in "remedial potions" again in order to continue his lessons with Snape, however that didn't mean that he would want to revert back to their old roles of hating each other.

The worry stabbed at his stomach. Harry pushed it back, choosing to focus on it later when he had the chance to confer with Snape.

All encompassing, the silence roared around him, reminding him very of early morning after the insects had gone to sleep but before the birds warbled their morning songs. In that twilight, a calm was always found.

The eerie absence of sound sent a tiny shiver through him.

Call it premonition, Harry couldn't help but feel that Ireland wasn't through with them yet. Something else was coming. Only Harry couldn't guess what that something might be.

.o.

.o.

.o.

This was the most arduous duel Harry had ever fought against Snape. It felt as if they had been fighting each other for many hours instead of the reality: about thirty minutes or so.

A furious barrage of spells, one being deflected as soon as it was dealt, sent stray bolts of magic ricocheting around the barn.

The last spell hurled at him, Harry only partially deflected, and had to physically dive roll to avoid getting hit.

"Sloppy," Snape admonished during a reprieve from the action when they both paused to catch their breaths.

Harry knew better than to break focus to verbally spar with the old Potion's Master, whose words could be as cutting as a razor's edge.

Instead, he focused inward, concentrating deeply on his magic.

The beginning of comprehension was within his grasp. Harry could feel the power curbing to his will.

Harry eyed Snape keenly and _knew_ with satisfaction that he was about to strike.

"_Incarcer—," _Snape began.

Before he could finish the spell Harry aimed his wand and said quickly, "_Expelliarmus!"_

The instant the magic shaped inside of him Harry realized that it was super-charged, many times more perilous than the spell he'd intended. Urgently struggling to reel it back in, Harry knew in his heart that his efforts were useless. Like a force of nature, he couldn't stop it. The best he could do was shout, "_Snape!_" in warning to him a millisecond before the spell made contact.

No ordinary _expelliarmus_, the shield charm that would have normally blocked the disarming spell yielded like a leaf in the wind, and Snape crumpled under the blast.

Snape hit the ground hard, slamming backwards into the solid earth with a sickening thud, knocking the breath clear out of him. He lay there for a moment, white flecks of light swirling before his eyes as a burning ache flooded his chest.

"I _told_ you!" Harry shouted angrily, rushing to him. "I knew this would happen!"

"I'm all right," Snape hissed, clearly in pain.

"No you're not!" Harry retorted.

"Go back to the cottage," Snape snapped. Harry moved to help him but Snape waved him off.

"You're such a stubborn git!" Harry yelled. "Even now, after _everything_ we've come through, you still won't listen to me—you won't even accept my help." He tore angrily from the barn, banging the door open aggressively and stormed outside.

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The moment Harry left, Snape collapsed back, swallowing the coppery taste of blood. He didn't want Harry to know. Even though Harry had washed his hands of the consequences, Snape knew all too well that Harry would misplace the blame on himself.

Since coming to the farm, Snape had felt better, though he remained unwell. The rest he'd had there had only slowed the dark magic that was overwhelming him— it had not stopped it.

That deadly hex he'd been hit with all those weeks ago was still inside him like a virus, and with any expenditure of magic it was rekindled, tearing up his insides.

At first his pride had dictated that his deterioration was none of Harry's business but as time progressed, and they had gotten to know each other better, Snape found that he did not have the heart to tell him.

Secretly he had hoped to manage the symptoms until he had delivered Harry safely back to Dumbledore's care. It was evident now that that wasn't going to happen.

There were deterrents in his room at the cottage that might help him hold on for a little longer, if only Snape could make it there without Harry noticing.

The instant he sat up he regretted ever doing so. The burning pain in his chest intensified and he couldn't catch his breath.

Slowly, Snape edged from the barn beginning his long trek to the cottage, his arms wrapped around himself. Keeping the front door his focus, he struggled against his seizing lungs, just attempting to take shallow breaths.

Suddenly a coughing fit took hold of him, sending him crashing to his knees. As blood dripped from his lips, Snape knew he wasn't going to make it.

Collapsing back on the ground, he lay very still, and in spite of everything, still trying to catch his breath.

Coughing again, gurgling up blood, Snape gasped, "_Not yet…" _

Praying for more time with Harry, he pleaded for just a little bit longer to develop the strong magic within him. The boy could very well be the one who defeats the Dark Lord.

And—there was something else, too. Snape did not know _how_ on this earth it had happened—he could not conceive of it really— but they had become emotionally involved with one another.

_Inextricably linked_.

Snape had neither siblings nor children of his own. Harry had become the closest thing to either he would ever know.

It seemed to be the final cruel joke that life was playing on Severus Snape. The boy he had loathed with so much of his soul would be the one person in the end who mattered most to him.

His thoughts, focused fixedly on Harry, were filled with sorrow. As the world dimmed around Snape, he did not know peace, but regret.

_To be continued…_

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Author's notes:

You know all those warnings I've posted at the beginning of every chapter (that I'm sure most folks skip over by now)? Well, these next few chapters are what those warnings are for… I remember getting a review a loooong time ago that asked me why I rated the story so high and well… this is why. I want to err on the side of caution anyway.

Angst!Fest has started! Sorry for ending this one in this manner, but this is the way it must be. I need to take extra care with the next chapter… I'm sure you can all guess where it's headed (Angst!Fest). But don't worry. The good news is that I already have pages and pages and _pages_ of 22 written. There are not too many chapters left… if anyone has been reading my LJ, you know already that I'm getting misty about the end of "Circumstance".

Speaking of my LJ you are welcome to friend me and leave comments about the story there (griseldajane . livejournal . com). Perhaps discuss the future of this strange Pre-HBP universe I've created… if there's any future for it at all.

Thanks for reading. See you next chapter!

- Li -


	22. Vigil

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Seriously, this chapter is grisly. You've been warned!

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

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Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 22

_Snape should be back by now,_ Harry thought looking out the window towards the barn. The curious sensation of anger mixed with concern churned within him, like the sea undulating against the horizon.

The stubborn fool had driven him away, and Harry, equally foolish, had let him. It suddenly occurred to Harry how _alike_ they really were.

Harry walked quickly out of the cottage, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He felt uneasy. He hated fighting with Snape. It reminded him of all the difficulties they had endured to reach this point in their relationship and exactly how fragile their friendship still was.

_Snape has to listen to me_, Harry thought. _We have to listen to each other._

Little more than half way between the cottage and the barn, Harry spotted a dark shape on the ground. He quickened his pace, terrific panic flooding his insides.

It was Snape, collapsed in a heap. In the dusk it was too dark to tell if he was breathing.

Harry's ears roared with the sound of his own thundering heart.

He ran to him, though he would not recall taking the steps, only that he was suddenly beside his fallen mentor.

"Professor?" Harry asked with trepidation as he crouched down beside him.

Paths of blood stained Snape's chin, his too pale skin looking blue in the moonlight. His breath was uneven and raspy.

It was as it had been before, when that cruel hex had been cast upon him causing a lethal parasite to burrow into and tear his lungs slowly apart.

But Dumbledore had cured him… hadn't he? He'd extracted the parasite! Harry had helped him do it!

The old headmaster's words were suddenly recalled. "_The damage that's already been done cannot be so easily mended with a counter spell." _

Harry didn't have time to wonder what the deeper meaning behind those words were as the raspy breath suddenly became choked and airless.

Quickly, he snapped his attention back to Snape.

Blood welled in Snape's mouth. His sharp, black eyes were dulling as if a candle burning behind them had been snuffed out.

Snape was not breathing; he was dying.

"_Oh, God," _Harry panicked, for a split second paralyzed in terror before his instincts kicked into gear.

Harry was a wizard, but a gut feeling was telling him _not_ to use magic on Snape. Harry felt that somehow things would get much worse if he tried anything right now.

He'd been a muggle first and those impulses were still with him. He did not know the proper spell to unblock an obstructed airway anyway (his mind was eerily blank of _any_ spells at the moment), but he did know what a muggle might do.

Grasping Snape's shoulders firmly, Harry turned him onto his side, permitting the blood to drain from his mouth, hopefully clearing his airway. A great deal of blood leaked onto the dirt, but Harry still hadn't heard him take a breath.

He pounded on Snape's back, desperate to dislodge the blood that prevented him from breathing, and miraculously Snape began to choke and sputter before finally heaving a much-needed breath of oxygen into his wrecked lungs.

As Snape coughed, Harry gently rubbed his hand in small circles between his shoulder blades, trying to soothe the writhing body as best he could.

Harry didn't know if he'd done the right thing, but it appeared to have worked for the time being. Snape was breathing. That's what counted.

His heart trembled with fear and sympathy as he listened to Snape's agonizing struggle for breath.

A bloodied hand fell on Harry's sleeve. Snape was trying to tell him something, but all he could manage was, "Har…ry…"

Squeezing his shoulder gently, Harry leaned down over him. Brushing the black hair back from his face, Harry spoke softly in his ear, "It's all right, Professor. I'm going to get you back to the house."

Snape tried to speak again but could only cough, a harsh rattle in his throat.

There was no way around it. Harry would have to use magic to get Snape back to the cottage. Even though the danger did not seem eminent, Snape had been careful never to use magic in an unwarded area and had required Harry to be equally cautious. They always used a barrier spell in the barn during all their training sessions.

A barrier spell could not be done in the open. It required four walls to act as a boundary for the magic.

Trembling in the night chill, Snape curled into himself, trying and failing to hold in another splintering cough. As Harry stroked his back again, he knew that he must move Snape out of this cold air right away.

Harry could not reason a way around it, and therefore his hand was forced. Using a levitation spell, he shifted Snape as smoothly as he could to the warmth and safety of the cottage.

But once there Harry was at a loss as to what to do. _Dumbledore_, Harry thought. _He needs Dumbledore—he'll know what to do for Snape._

Deep down, Harry knew that was impossible. Snape didn't think that Dumbledore was even at Hogwarts, and it was very unlikely that the Headmaster would suddenly contact them when he'd been _incommunicado_ all summer.

Did he dare send an owl? Aside from the fact that the Brennons didn't have one and there most likely wasn't another witch or wizard living within fifty miles of this place, an owl messenger was very likely to be intercepted by Death Eaters.

_A Patronus,_ Harry thought suddenly. _The Order uses patronus' as a means to communicate with its members_. But as soon as Harry thought this his heart sank. The use of that much magic would certainly send red flags up for any Death Eater to see.

Harry had no way of reaching Dumbledore. No way to save Snape.

"_Harry_…" Snape gasped and Harry went instantly to his bedside. He was curled on his side and Harry dropped down to his eye level, gazing worriedly into his dying black eyes.

_Tell me what to do_, Harry thought desperately. _I don't know—I don't know—_

"You'll be… okay," Snape whispered. "I've taught you… enough… to get you started." He had to pause there to catch what little breath he could. "You need… to get back to your… Aunt's..."

Before Snape could finish his words, Harry was already shaking his head. "No—_no,_" Harry said angrily. _Don't you dare,_ he thought. _Don't you dare give up!_

"Harry…" Snape began, his eyes searching out the green ones glaring back at him. "I didn't come here to recover," he whispered. "I came here to die."

"No," Harry said again. "Stop talking like that. You're going to be fine. You will recover. It's just a little setback—."

"It's too much," Snape said softly. "No magic in the world can save me now."

"Dumbledore could!" Harry shouted. "He did before."

"…no time," Snape mumbled. He dragged in another harsh breath.

"Why did this happen?" Harry asked in frustration. "Why now after all this time?"

Snape's eyes closed and for an instant Harry feared he wouldn't answer, but in a moment he said, "…more than one… parasite… must have laid dormant inside… reawakened in s'own time… nothing t'be… done…"

Snape's slurred words trailed off weakly. His eyes reopened, though, and he watched Harry almost as if detached, as one would watch a crackling fire.

Harry sat back on the floor, devastated. Another parasite had remained inactive inside Snape this whole time and he'd not known it. It had never occurred to him that such a thing was possible, especially after Dumbledore had _saved_ Snape from it before… he was supposed to be on the path to recovery. Dumbledore himself had told him so!

What had caused Snape to relapse? What was different about right now from the start of their journey together?

_It's the magic_, Harry realized. _The sleeping parasite must gain power whenever Snape uses magic._

Little things that had seemed innocent at the time suddenly came under suspicion.

Why had it been _so_ important that they travel as Muggles? Part of Harry knew that the Death Eaters would find them if they weren't judicious with their magic making. But if what Harry suspected about the parasite was true, then Snape's only chance at survival was to strictly limit the magic he performed if not give it up entirely.

_He's been using magic everyday to teach me_, Harry thought. _And I— I've hit him with so much wild magic that I must have accelerated the parasite's strength… If only I'd realized this sooner… if only I'd known there could be more than one parasite within—_

Even the words of the vampire came back to taunt him, _You're bleeding on the inside… I can smell it._ Harry should have known then, he should have realized it _then_—

But Dumbledore had to have known this could happen. And he'd sent Snape off to the middle of no-where to die with no _resources_, nothing to—

In mid-rant Harry remembered, _the book!_

"Professor," Harry said, suddenly rushing towards him. He clasped Snape's hand, making sure that Snape understood him. "I'll be right back."

_Don't go anywhere_, he thought. _Don't die on me…_

.o.

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Whenever Harry had wanted to know something the book had magically fallen open to just the information he'd been looking for. Over the weeks, with his lessons from Snape in the forefront, Harry had forgotten about the book entirely.

His room, even with his few possessions, was a mess. Frantically, throwing open drawers and tossing piles of clothes out of the way, Harry found the ancient spell book forgotten between the nightstand and his bed.

His fingers gently passed over the worn, cloth cover, tracing over the place where only mere glints of the tile letters remained.

Harry prayed to any God that would listen—

_Please, _please_, help me save him—help me save him—_

He flipped open the magical book that Dumbledore had given him and it fell open to a page Harry had never seen before in prior examination of the book. The ancient spell for extracting— the one that Dumbledore had used— lay before him.

"Yes!" Harry shouted, a thrill of exhilaration shooting through him.

Then it came to him, crushing and horrible—

_Dumbledore planned this_.

Dumbledore _knew_ this would happen to Snape. And knowing that Snape would never refuse him, Dumbledore put him back to work for the Order— _babysitting_ Harry— instead of sending Snape to St. Mungo's where he would have had a real chance (though Harry was conveniently forgetting that his safety could not be guaranteed at the hospital).

Dumbledore knew that he wouldn't be there to help Snape a second time and so he'd planted the book, placing the burden and the guilt with Harry.

Harry felt simultaneously grateful and very, very angry.

Suddenly, Harry couldn't breathe as the enormity of the task at hand overwhelmed him. Everything hit him at once, the new relationship they'd formed, just how much he cared about Snape, the new magic he was learning, the wild magic that overcame him, Snape's _life_ resting in his hands—

There was no doubt in his mind that Snape would die this very night, if Harry didn't do something about it.

How could he fail this? He couldn't. He just couldn't. He had to get it right and get it right the first time.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry scrutinized the page, looking over the complex spell very carefully. His eyes swept over the page from top to bottom, reading it through three times.

The spell itself was very simple, the incantation being a single word, though that was not where the complexity laid. Directing the spell was the difficulty, latching onto the parasite and steering it clear with steady precision. Though, having enough power to sustain the spell for as long as it required was the real effort.

Thinking back to that day in Leonora's cottage—how long ago it seemed now— Harry tried to recall the details. His brain felt fuzzy, the memory un-sharp and out of focus. He'd been occupied with capturing the parasite in a container, not fastidiously studying Dumbledore's every move for future reference.

What he did remember was that it had been quick, not more than a few minutes, but gruesome. A ghastly amount of blood had been spilled. There was no doubt that there would be even more spilled this time. Relapses were always worse.

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"Snape?" Harry whispered, crouching beside the bed. Black eyes refocused. Snape simply gazed at him, no breath to spare for words.

"I've found the spell that will remove the parasite," Harry said, holding up the book. "The same one Dumbledore used."

It took a moment for Snape to absorb this. He shook his head slightly with disapproval.

"I've studied it and I know I can do it," Harry said quickly as Snape continued to shake his head _no_.

"…losing battle," he murmured. Long ago, Snape had considered himself among the dead. In his mind, his borrowed time was ending.

"Nothing is lost, yet," Harry said. "There's still hope."

"…let me go, Harry," Snape whispered.

Harry stared at him, his green eyes glittering. Just the thought of it made his heart constrict with pain, made the ache inside of him deepen.

"_I can't_," he admitted.

The fear of loss was too great. Everyone that had ever cared for Harry had been taken away from him. First his parents had been murdered, and then Sirius had fallen behind the veil—the loss of Snape, who had unwittingly become more than just a guardian to him, could possibly push Harry over the edge. "I can't— _I won't let you die_."

"Harry…" Snape wheezed.

"I won't do this without your permission," Harry started, "but how can I just _do nothing_? I can't think of anything more horrible."

"You've no obligation—."

"_Obligation_!" Harry yelled. "That's a hell of a thing to say to me," he spat. "You think I don't want you to die out of some sense of duty?"

Slipping from his grasp, the spell book fell to the floor. How could Snape still not understand that he meant so much to him? How could he belittle their connection in this way? Rage and anguish welled inside Harry again as his frustration surfaced.

"…Harry," Snape beseeched. "…Harry, _please..._" His hand was raised imploringly, but weakly dropped back to the bed.

This gentle pleading had an immobilizing effect on Harry's anger. He reached across the bed and took Snape's hand, noticing how cold and white his long fingers were between his own.

"Always… say the wrong thing… with you," Snape murmured. "What I mean… you _want_ t'do this?"

"Yes," Harry said, nodding for emphasis. "Absolutely. _Of course_ I do."

"…very difficult," Snape whispered.

"I want to," Harry said.

"Promise me," Snape said, trying to hold back another bout of coughing. "You won't blame yourself if I should—."

"You won't," Harry asserted, cutting him off before he could say the word he so feared.

"Leave me with your promise," Snape whispered.

"I promise," Harry whispered. "It's going to be okay."

"Harry," Snape murmured, breathless. He swallowed thickly, but his lips were red with blood. "I never— I…" but he couldn't continue as his body wracked with coughing. Helplessness flickered in his eyes, an expression completely foreign to him.

"Shh," Harry soothed. "It's okay," he said, even though it wasn't. Even though his heart was breaking.

A trickle of blood leaked down Snape's chin. Gently, Harry wiped it away with his fingers.

Turning to recover the fallen book, Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. Snape didn't have long before he bled to death.

Opening the book, it once again fell open to the ancient extracting spell. Scanning the page once more, Harry's eyes blurred the words together. Now was not the time to get upset, he chastised himself.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked him, peering down into his face.

Snape nodded and he closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come.

"Lie still," Harry whispered, unnecessarily, for Snape was as inert as a corpse.

_I can do this_, Harry thought as he summoned his wand to him. Focusing on the spell, Harry tried to employ some of the techniques Snape had taught him.

_Embody the action_, Snape had said to him once. Harry pictured that horrid little parasite, burrowing within Snape's lungs, slowly killing his mentor from the inside out. Imagining that he could reach inside and capture the pernicious leech, Harry prepared himself for the enchantment.

Wand raised, Harry swiftly moved his arms apart and intoned clearly, "_Extractum!"_

The effect was instantaneous. Like a bolt of lightning, Harry felt the spell conduct through him. It was akin to like poles colliding or the sensation of two magnets being forced together.

Harry had to keep magical balance as the parasite shifted stubbornly inside Snape, aggressively struggling against the magic to hold onto its host.

Snape writhed as if under the sway of the _cruciatus_ curse as Harry fought to free him from the hex and destroy the parasite.

Godit _hurt._ It hurt Harry to hurt him this much. Snape's anguished cries could not be held back, but Harry couldn't let the terrible pain in his voice deter him.

It was all or nothing. There could be no midway. Stopping now would mean Snape's death.

When Dumbledore had performed this magic, it had not taken this long. Like a wounded animal, the parasite thrashed around, wreaking havoc inside Snape's already too-damaged lungs.

Blood leaked from the corners of Snape's mouth, seeping down his face, but Harry knew the leech was weakening. Just a little bit longer and Snape would be free of it.

With an irrevocable lurch, the parasite came forth, crawling and fluttering its wings before taking off for the open window, but Harry couldn't waste time attempting to catch the nasty creature.

Shaking, and whiter than the sheet he lay on, Snape breathed with difficulty as his lungs struggled from the shock of the extraction. It had been messy and very difficult, and Harry regretted his inexperience never more so than he did at this moment.

Snape was bleeding _a lot_, much more than Harry remembered when Dumbledore had performed this exact spell on him. It was as if with the departure of the parasite a floodgate had been opened within him.

It was frightening. With red smeared across his too-pale skin, and his eyes blunted from the torturous extraction, Snape _looked_ dead. The hemorrhaging had to be stopped.

With bloodied hands, Harry slammed the book shut, focused intently for an instant, then let the book fall open, praying that he was blessed once again with the spell that was needed.

_Incantations for the Dying_ it read, the old typeset words filling him with horror. Even after this difficult and traumatic experience, it wasn't over yet.

Reading quickly but carefully Harry realized that Snape must be on the brink of life and death for two spells split the page. One ushered the dying peacefully into the beyond, while the other fought to restore waning life.

_Not good,_ Harry thought. With not a second to waste, Harry ignored the first spell entirely, focusing on the second, life-sustaining incantation.

Placing his wand to Snape's chest with his other hand over it, Harry intoned, "_Constrictum minuo mortalitas_," beginning the healing spell, and hoping that the damage he'd caused from the extraction could be repaired.

This magic was draining; Harry felt it pulling energy from him, and channeled into Snape.

Was it working? Was he performing the spell correctly? It didn't look like it was making any difference—

"No—_god damn it_—you're not going to die on me now!" Harry shouted through gritted teeth.

The spell was hurting them both, but Harry wouldn't stop.

_Just a little longer_, Harry thought. _Please hold on—hold on._

Pushing harder, Harry saw the effects of the spell starting to take hold; fresh blood was no longer coming up.

He felt his magic begin to surge and Harry, with no alternative, halted the spell entirely, breathing hard and fast, exhausted and afraid. He couldn't control his power yet. If he let loose, Harry feared he might kill Snape instead.

Trembling, his mouth open in a silent gasp, Snape blinked trying to clear his vision. A tear streamed silently down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, leaning over Snape. "I'm so sorry."

Thumbing the tear away, Harry searched his coal black eyes for understanding.

Snape stared back at him, his brow creased with confusion as their eyes met. "Lily?" he whispered hoarsely.

Harry jumped back like a shot, startled by his remark.

"Lily was my mother," Harry stated, bewildered, unsure of what else to say.

"You were always… kind to me," Snape murmured, his eyes falling closed.

"No—No, Professor. Lily was my mother," Harry repeated. "_I'm_ Harry."

Snape was body-tired and mind-weary, much too exhausted to remain conscious. As he drifted off he continued, "…even though I'm a disgrace… Lily…"

Harry had often been told that he had his mother's eyes, but no instance before this had made him realize how true it must be, if Snape had mistaken, in his delirium, Harry for his long deceased mother.

"Stay awake!" Harry shouted. "Snape, _don't_ fall asleep." But his plea fell on deaf ears for Snape had already passed out.

He felt tears of fatigue and relief prickle at his eyes, but he would not let them fall, wouldn't allow himself the release. It wasn't over yet.

Kneeling on the floor beside the bed, Harry kept vigil over him, watching and listening for anything that might happen. Snape looked like a murder victim, a cadaver laid out on a medical examiner's slab.

Despite that he was worn out, Harry implemented a cleansing charm and instantly the visual gore vanished.

Even though the blood had been washed away, the strain this had taken on Snape was obvious. His skin was ashen and cool to the touch. Dark circles formed under his eyes and his ebony-black hair was disheveled. The horrible scrape of a slowly strangled breath was ever-present as Snape slowly inhaled and exhaled. The damage there would take time to heal and possibly more magic than Harry could conjure.

Feeling suddenly useless, Harry smoothed Snape's hair away from his face. He'd done all he could for Snape. Whatever happened was beyond him now and Harry didn't like that one bit.

Exhausted, he lay down on his side next to Snape, his eyes locked to the rise and fall of his chest, his ears keen for the raspy sound of his breath. As long as Harry knew these two things to be constant, he knew Snape was alive and breathing.

Although not one for prayer, Harry found himself pleading with the powers that be, repeating the same mantra over and over in silent benediction, _Let him live. Please, please, let him live…_

Fatigue matured within him and Harry had not the strength to fight it. As he felt his eyelids grow heavy, he continued to listen to the rough breathing of the man next to him until he too succumbed to sleep.

.o.

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_Everything was bleached vivid white and blue, like on old photograph discolored from years of exposure to the sun. Blurry shapes swayed around him, the walls warping out of shape. He couldn't see clearly, his eyes refusing to focus on anything around him. _

_Racing down a narrow corridor, he heard the ominous cadence of dual metronomes, pounding the beat out of sync with each other, thump-thump, thump-thump, as the close set walls moved in on him, growing ever-taller and coming ever-nearer. _

_Lingering in the air, the scent of cold and damp staleness suffocated him. The stones beneath his feet shifted, dropping out as he ran. Deftly, he leaped over the gaps, his footfalls resounding starkly in the utter quiet. _

_Something slick and wet made him slip and Harry went crashing down on the hard stone floor. Every second counted against him. He scrambled urgently back to his feet, wiping the dark liquid from his forearms as he ran, and realized, with sick horror as it came away red but with no pain, that it was blood— someone else's blood— that stained him, the dark trail marking a path in front of him. _

_Harry reached the door, white erupting as he broke through the threshold._

_On the floor a dark shape lay sprawled…_

.o.

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Harry's eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. Immediately, he turned to Snape, terrified that he would find him dead. But Snape was breathing and suddenly his eyes opened too.

Summoning his wand to him, Harry rose from the bed, eyes scanning the darkness. His instincts were screaming…

Snape clasped his arm, his grip surprisingly and wonderfully strong. He shook his head, _no_. Clearly, he sensed something too, and didn't want Harry to pursue it.

He smiled at him, then patted his hand reassuringly before removing it from his arm.

"I'll be right back," Harry said, pocketing his wand and going into the main room.

Many hours spent asleep, it was sometime in the early morning, though long before the sun would rise. Harry's eyes acclimated to the dark, and though nothing looked amiss, something was definitely _wrong_.

A spark of light burst outside and the door to the cottage swung open and off of its hinges.

Through the smoke of the smoldering wood, Bellatrix LeStrange stepped across the threshold with several Death Eaters at her back. She held a glass jar in her hand and flickering inside it was the bloody parasite Harry had extracted mere hours before.

Her eyes locked on Harry's. She smiled a ruthless husk of a smile and said simply, "Get him."

_To be continued…_

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Author's notes:

Is everyone still here? I think I may have lost a few people over this chapter. This one was gruesome and reveled in angst! (I warned about that last time, I did!)

As always, I thank you for your patience.

There aren't many more chapters planned for this story… maybe three more? Could be more could be less, depends upon the muse.

I would love to hear from you at my LJ—about this story and what's next. I'm trying to figure out what to do _after_ Circumstance (if anything at all). You are welcome to friend me and leave comments about the story there (griseldajane . livejournal . com).

Thanks for reading. See you next chapter!

- Li -


	23. Within and Without You

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for kicks and giggles.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

-o-o- Read this chapter THROUGH to the END please! Thank you -o-o-

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.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 23: Within and Without You

_Through the smoke of the smoldering wood, Bellatrix LeStrange stepped across the threshold with several Death Eaters at her back. She held a glass jar in her hand and flickering inside it was the bloody parasite Harry had extracted mere hours before. _

_Her eyes locked on Harry's. She smiled a ruthless husk of a smile and said simply, "Get him."_

Betrayed— _by his own magic_— Harry felt ill, as if the enemy was inside him, coursing alongside the blood in his veins. The thought sickened him.

How could he have been expected to go after that damned parasite when Snape lay bleeding to death?

Of course, that sharp-clawed menace had led Bellatrix and her crew right to them. The parasite was the living manifestation of one of the darkest, cruelest hexes Harry had ever seen— certainly enough magic contained within the little beast to act as a homing beacon to their location.

Death Eaters surged around Bellatrix and through the doorway, like rushing water barreling furiously through a broken dam. With wands raised, they converged on him.

It was surreal, as if he was watching a nightmarish scene from someone else's life in Dumbledore's Pensieve. There was no time to think. Though Harry was beyond tired, he felt a rush of adrenaline bringing newfound energy to him.

Silently his eyes swept over the group, counting five faces. His only chance to was to take as many of them out as he could before they got into the main room.

Suddenly a flash of light erupted and soared towards Harry. Reacting on instinct, Harry countered the jinx hurtling towards him with a well-aimed shield charm, sending the offensive spell bounding back at the offending Death Eater, who, in the tight quarters had no choice but to dive out of the way. The wayward curse hit the dark wizard behind him, sending him hurtling backward.

Two more hexes followed, flying furiously at him, but Harry was ready for those too. He sent each of the curses recoiling, driving the Death Eaters back with their own spells.

This trend would not continue, however, as the hexes came faster and faster at him.

Harry felt a hot jolt burn past his cheek. Defensive spells would not be effective enough— aggressive action had to be taken.

A tall, red-haired wizard stood before him like a massive brick wall. Speeding to the right, Harry diverted the large Death Eater, who chased after him.

_Reducto_, Harry thought hoping that his silent magic would work. Suddenly the bookcase blasted off the wall, taking the Death Eater by surprise. Harry dived out of the way just as the old wooden case crashed down.

A salvo of hexes hurtled towards him, forcing Harry to take cover behind the bookcase. Harry peeked over the side and saw two Death Eaters coming. With a loud sizzle, a curse hit the shelf just below where his head was.

Hastily, Harry ducked back, readied himself, and then shouted, "_Impedimenta!"_ His aim was true—both wizards stopped in their tracks.

"Enough!" Bellatrix shouted. "_Incarcerous!"_ she cried over and over, pointing her wand at Harry. Harry deflected the first, but the other remaining Death Eater shot at him and he could not deflect both attacks.

Harry felt thick ropes form around him, binding him fast. His wand slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Bellatrix bent and picked up Harry's wand, twirling it over her fingers before tucking it into her belt.

Three of the five Death Eaters were down, one lying unconscious, two more stuck in a curse, while another was nursing a welt from particularly nasty hex.

"Rowe," Bellatrix snarled, calling upon the other still standing Death Eater. "Get those three up."

She rounded on Harry, her dull, black eyes boring dispassionately into him. With her wand thrust to Harry's neck, she hissed, "Where is Snape?"

Harry wasn't about to lead them right to Snape when they had eluded them for so long. Harry spoke the first thing he could think of.

"He died," Harry lied smoothly. "I couldn't stop the bleeding," Harry whispered, looking down at his bloodied clothes for effect. "He bled to death— I couldn't stop it— I couldn't—."

"Then _where's_ the body?" Bellatrix interrupted, completely unmoved by his performance. "I want to see his lifeless carcass with my own eyes."

Defiantly, Harry stared stone-faced back at her. No way he was going to help her— He would make this as difficult as possible for Bellatrix.

"Search the house," she barked at her motley crew of Death Eaters.

It took all of Harry's will power not to glance at the bedroom where he knew Snape was resting. His loudly pounding heart would surely divulge his fear, but Bellatrix's eyes darted from Harry to each of the other Death Eaters as they search through the cottage with no sign that they understood his fear.

Snape had seemed somewhat cognizant when Harry had left him, but Harry doubted that Snape would be ready to face any wizards, let alone Death Eaters.

Desperately, Harry tried to think of a plan to free himself from Bellatrix before the other Death Eaters discovered Snape.

It was too late; the Death Eater called Ashby was at the transfigured bedroom door, wand out and lit, casting a bright light at the floor.

"There's blood here," Ashby said, looking from the floor to Bellatrix's drawn face.

"Well?" she prompted impatiently.

Wand raised, Ashby pointed it at the closed door, but before he could utter a syllable of a spell, the door blasted open whirling clear off of its hinges and smashed headlong into Ashby.

Stunned, Ashby fell to the ground unconscious.

The dust cleared and Snape emerged from the room, clinging tightly to the doorframe, his face pale, his brow glistening with sweat. It was clear that Snape didn't have much left in him for a fight, but Harry knew that stubborn look clouding his eyes— Snape would draw on every last reserve he possessed to stop the Death Eaters until his final breath was taken.

_Idiot!_ Harry thought desperately. If Snape had any sense he would have tried to get away, but even as he thought this, he knew Snape never would have done so, not even before their summer escapade.

Inexplicably, Harry felt a gentle but sure connection to him as if he could feel embers of Snape's presence lingering about him. It made Harry feel protected and warm. He wondered fleetingly if Snape could sense him too.

"_Snape_," Bellatrix spat. Her already unpleasant visage twisted with ugly revulsion as she spoke his name. "I'll see you put out of your misery yet!"

Snape didn't say anything. His features were hard and devoid of his thoughts.

They glared at each other; a silent battle of wills clashed between them. Similar in that Voldemort had crossed both of their lives, Bellatrix and Snape were also vastly different in the paths they had chosen beyond that point.

"Not the man you once were?" Bellatrix jeered at him. "Still just as stubborn, but not nearly as impressive. A shell is all that's left of you—lost everything."

A strange thing happened then; Snape smiled. It was very slight, barely a twitch, but Harry unmistakably saw it. Bellatrix must have as well for she could not keep the shocked outrage from her face that he was laughing at her.

"Lost everything? No. You have no idea all that I have gained," Snape said softly. And his black eyes shifted to Harry's face. Again, Harry felt a very slight warmth bristle around him and he knew this to be Snape.

Unnerved, Bellatrix shouted to her crew, "Don't just stand there, you idiots!" She backed away, grabbing Harry by the scruff of the neck.

Even in the weakened condition that he was in, Snape was still a formidable opponent. He seemed to know exactly how the others would move, judiciously saving his strength for a single spell to counter them.

_Legilimency?_ Harry wondered fleetingly as he watched. Bellatrix was close now with his wand still tucked in her belt. Focusing hard, Harry stared at his wand willing it to fly into his grasp.

_Accio wand_, Harry thought, over and over as he imagined the wand fleeing through the air towards him.

Glancing up, Harry noticed that despite his earlier tactics, Snape was tiring. He could visibly see Snape's energy waning. Fear clawed at Harry similar to the way that the parasite that had wrested the life out of Snape. Each spell he cast noticeably took its toll on him. Not surprising, after spending the night on death's door.

Harry had to hurry. Concentrating harder than ever he saw his wand start to move upward from her belt.

Just as his wand was about to be free, a large crash stole his attention back to the scene. A large smoldering hole was burned into the floor a mere foot from were Snape stood.

The one called Rowe, who had seemed more intelligent than the others, sneered at Snape, "Your mind tricks will not work on me."

Looking away from Harry at the commotion, Bellatrix was sufficiently distracted and Harry took this opportunity to extricate himself from her grasp.

It was now or never. He had to get to Snape. Shouting "_accio_ wand!" his wand flew from Bellatrix's belt into his out stretched hand and in one motion he freed himself from his bonds and took off to reach Snape.

It was stupid, but Harry wasn't thinking of anything except getting to his side before he collapsed. Recognizing what was happening, Snape moved to meet him halfway, his gaze fixed beyond Harry.

"_Crucio!_" Bellatrix shrieked, aiming her favorite hex at Harry.

Grasping his arm, Snape pulled Harry to him and at the same time aimed his wand shouting, "_Declino!"_ Harry felt a surge of energy encompass him and then a jolt as the torture curse hit the shield.

This spell proved to be too much.

The magic halted and Snape pitched forward, sagging against Harry.

"Snape!" Harry shouted.

"You went the… wrong way," Snape murmured, his eyes falling shut. "..should have escaped out the door..."

"Like I would leave you," Harry hissed. "_Stay awake! _Don't do this to me now." But with no fortitude left, Snape had fallen unconscious.

Harry knew it was over. There were three wands pointed at him and with Snape lying senseless in his arms he had no hope of getting them both out of there.

That didn't mean he wouldn't go down swinging.

The last thing Harry remembered as three hexes launched at him was a howl of rage as his curse hit Bellatrix square in the face.

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Throbbing tension drummed in his head to the beat of his wild pulse. He heard distorted voices as if his head was submerged underwater. A whiff of putrid, stagnant decay wafted past him and curiosity forced his eyes open. Where was he?

With his head pounding, Harry slowly became aware of his surroundings. Pain radiated down his arms into his shoulders and back. He was stretched arms length against an old stone wall, wrists shackled by magical bonds to it.

Furtively, Harry stole a glance around, trying to figure out where he'd been taken. He was no longer in the cottage and the only thing stopping his fear that he was back in Voldemort's stronghold was that the Death Eaters were insisting that Bellatrix bring him there at once.

"Bella we really shouldn't linger here," a low, gravelly voice said loudly. "The Dark Lord is impatient to have him."

"You'll do as I say, Rowe," Bellatrix hissed back. "The Dark Lord shall have him this time, make no mistake. But I deserve a little revenge for my pains first."

The Death Eater called Rowe scowled but didn't dare oppose her. Anyone could plainly see that Bellatrix Lestrange was insane and very capable of causing serious harm to those who crossed her.

Taking another stealthy glimpse about the place, Harry realized he was in one of the many crumbling ruins that dotted the countryside. The ceiling on the left side had long since caved in and Harry saw that the sky was illuminated with morning light.

There was a darkened entranceway on the side opposite of him and it looked to continue deeper into the ancient structure. Though Harry could not see what was behind him, he knew that was the only way in or out of this room.

The Death Eaters were bickering amongst themselves, not paying much attention to Harry.

"No more games," the large Death Eater with the shock of red hair growled. His arms were folded across his chest in obvious disapproval of the situation. "We've wasted enough time on the other one. Let's get the boy to the Dark Lord."

"That turncoat got all that he's worthy of," piped up Ashby, who shot a sycophantic look up at Bellatrix.

The rest of the conversation was lost on Harry. Panic twisting his stomach, Harry scrutinized every corner of the room, anxiously hoping to see Snape fettered within the shadows, but he was frightfully absent from the room.

"Why Harry Potter," Bellatrix drawled, her aloof eyes suddenly fixed on him. "It's about time you joined us." All the Death Eaters turned, their equally cold eyes casting a heavy gaze on him.

Harry felt cold shivers creep down his spine. Bellatrix, like Voldemort, took trophies—both his and Snape's wand were tucked into her belt.

There was no use evading the issue; nothing could have stopped the question from escaping him—

"Where's Snape?" Harry demanded, trying to keep his voice steady and in control.

Bellatrix smiled, sauntering towards him. _My, how the tables have turned_, she seemed to say to him with her sickly good-humored expression. It was very ironic that she had asked him the exact same question earlier.

"It was very considerate of you to keep him alive for us to play with," she replied with an excess of self-satisfaction.

She came close, and Harry could see red scratches in her gray skin where his hex had hit her as she traced the lightning shaped scar on his forehead with her finger.

"We only needed to save _you_ for the Dark Lord," she said, punctuating this by pressing her finger into his scar. "You needn't worry yourself with Snape anymore."

The color drained from Harry's face. What she was hinting at couldn't possibly be true— _She's lying_, Harry thought desperately.

"I'm sure Snape has found his apt place in hell," she sneered, taking pure pleasure in Harry's obvious torment. There came low chuckles from the group of Death Eaters.

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. "It's not true!" he shouted, unable to hold his apprehension in check.

Snape was nowhere in sight, but worse, Harry couldn't sense him either. That slight, ever-present glimmer in the back of Harry's awareness—so slight that he hadn't even realized it had been there— was painfully absent. The soft embers had died leaving nothingness in its wake.

"Aww, you're upset," she cooed, mocking his distress and taking sheer delight in it. "You actually _cared_ about that traitorous bastard. If it's any consolation, we made him bleed more than you did." Then she feigned concern and added as an afterthought, "Oh, that wouldn't really be comforting to you would it?"

_She's not lying_, Harry thought as he studied her triumphant expression. _God, she's not lying—oh, Snape— Oh, my God—_

Harry felt the canvas of reality tilt; his whole world came crashing down upon him as if the earth's gravity had been reversed.

All his power and his newfound magic meant _nothing—_

_Loss_— soul-rending and devastating— overpowered him. A deep hole had been gouged out of him and it slowly filled with despair. Harry had not an inkling of how much he had come to care for Snape until the ache of his absence had beset him.

A dull roar filled his head, driving all rational thought away. His chest heaved as he tried to keep himself from unraveling. Why was everyone he loved was taken away from him?

With a look of delightful malice, Bellatrix sneered, "I got the bleeding idea from you, Potter," to which the Death Eaters were smirking, but Harry did not pay attention to her words, could not hear anything except the rushing in his head.

Physically exhausted and emotionally wrecked, an unfamiliar sensation of hardheartedness befell him. He suddenly looked up at Bellatrix knowing what his broken heart wanted to do to her, and didn't care. Power swelled within him, his rage fueling the vengeful wild magic.

Snape's life would not be in vain.

The wicked smile slowly left Bellatrix's face. She seemed to realize that something wasn't right, but it was too late. Harry couldn't have controlled the magic inside him even if he'd wanted to.

The bonds holding him in place suddenly were not so powerful as to hold him there any longer. His wand flew to his hand without Harry having to call it.

Backpedaling clumsily, Bellatrix thrust her wand at Harry only to have the thin wooden instrument fly from her grasp. Calling to the other Death Eaters, she glared at Harry with bewilderment. Ashby and Rowe aimed hexes at him, but Harry deflected them with no trouble.

Harry comprehended none of it; he watched the whole scene as if detached. He aimed his wand at them— and like a tidal wave, the magic surged from him rushing headlong into the Death Eaters.

Too upset to comprehend, Harry did not know the magic that he was casting; only that he hoped it destroyed them, turning them to dust where they stood...

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After a moment or two, the magic released him and he fell to his knees, breathing hard. Harry gazed around, shell-shocked. All of the Death Eaters were unconscious, if not dead by Harry's unrestrained rage. Horrified, Harry had not the daring to check.

_What have I done? What if I've killed them?_ His first gut reaction had been to lash out at them and hurt them as much as he had been hurt, but he had never intended to kill them.

Harry pushed that thought away. There was only one thing he could focus on now— He needed to find Snape, needing to _see_ with his own eyes that what she said was true before he could believe that he was really gone.

Without further hesitation, Harry shot off through the only doorway, leaving the Death Eaters where they lay, summoning Snape's wand to him from Bellatrix's belt as he hurried.

_This can't be happening_, Harry thought as he ran. The walls of the old structure seemed to swell and sway on all sides of him. Dizzy with worry and fatigue, Harry's eyes refused to focus on anything around him.

Racing down the half-deteriorated narrow corridor, the sound of his own pounding heart thundered in his ears with the ominous cadence of _thump-thump, thump-thump_…

His mind sped as fast as his heart, the familiarity of this scene sent shivers through his body. It was his dream come to life.

Tripping over an uneven stone in the floor, he went down, landing hard on his arms. Swiftly he pushed himself up, brushing the grime from his skinned elbows as he ran. Blood came off on his fingers, but he realized with perfect terror— it had already been on the floor _before_ he fell. A gruesome trail lay before him leading into the only room at the end of the hall.

His heart thundered in his chest as he ran down the narrow corridor...

The doorway was filled with bright morning light filtering in through the dilapidated window opening. Sinister shadows stretched across the light-bleached floor, cutting dark shapes into the sun-imbued surface.

Breaching the entry, Harry stopped dead in his tracks as he gazed at what awaited him on the other side.

There in the shadows, crumpled on the stone floor like a rag doll, blood pooled around his prone form, was Snape. His eyes were closed and he lay unmoving.

Unthinking, Harry skidded to his knees beside him, pulling Snape into his lap.

_No, no, no, no, no, no_, Harry thought as he held Snape in a fierce embrace.

His clothes were torn revealing expanses of bloodstained, very-white skin— blood was smeared across his face, his chest, his arms, his thighs— marks of cruel torment everywhere.

Flashes of awful imaginings sped through Harry's mind. He pictured in graphic detail the tortures that the Death Eaters—_Bellatrix_— must have afflicted upon him to leave these kinds of wounds— all while Harry lay unconscious in the next room. Shaking his head to escape the thoughts, he found he could not banish the terrible images from his mind's eye.

He passed his hands down Snape's torso, finding that a mortal slash marred his side, allowing his life's blood to spill across the stone floor.

The Death Eaters had left him there to bleed out, to die an unhurried and agonizing death.

_There has to be hope…_

Harry brushed his hair away from his face, smoothing the greasy black strands. He cupped Snape's cheek with his hand, gently turning his face toward him. Pressing two fingers to his neck, a wavering pulse beat pathetically beneath them.

"Open your eyes," Harry commanded, his voice shaking.

He brushed blood from Snape's lips and jaw with his thumb. "Please, _please_," he pleaded his voice tight, becoming desperate.

"I know you're in there. I know you're not gone— You wouldn't leave me," Harry whispered. "You can't."

But Snape remained cold and still.

"Sirius was right," he said savagely. "You're weak— a coward. You're a _coward_, Snape! Do you hear me?"

But it didn't work; his taunts didn't rouse Snape from some deep slumber as Snape's tough words had once done for Harry.

Harry gripped Snape tightly, pressing his cheek to Snape's face. Harry wasn't going to cry, he asserted as he blinked furiously.

He was helpless.

Magic flooded him—_raw_— _fierce_— like before except instead of fury and anguish driving it, it was lead by frustration, by staggering, heart-cleaving sorrow.

Wild, unbridled magic overwhelmed him—he didn't even try to control it— pouring out of Harry in blinding white light. It enveloped Harry and Snape, as well as the room with all its contents. Harry felt it flow through him, seeping beyond his boundaries.

His stomach lurched in fear; he felt as if the earth's gravitation was slowing. He didn't know how to stop himself, and the intensity scared him.

His thoughts turned to Snape, as he tried to regain composure. _He would be disappointed_, Harry thought, _I still haven't learned control. I haven't learned anything… and it has cost him— it has cost me… _

Snape had always told him that he let his emotion run him instead of the other way around, but Harry couldn't help it. _What good is it to feel this much and not be able to use it?_

Harry clutched Snape tighter and tried to calm himself, tried not to think of anything, tried not to feel anything, to just _stop_ altogether.

The most peculiar feeling of warmth surrounded him. He opened his eyes but it was impossible to see. Whiteness swathed everything. Gentle heat percolated around him— the magic that he'd been so hopelessly trying to control was _waiting_ for him. Harry's heart leapt and without hesitation the magic followed him in his joy and sorrow, through his love, heartache and hope.

Realization dawned on him. Accessing the dormant magic inside him wasn't necessarily about controlling it. It wasn't about restraining emotions either. It was more about symbiosis.

He nearly laughed, a hysterical little gasp, as he came to this understanding— his relationship with Snape had been exactly this— symbiotic.

He and Snape, as unalike as two people could be, had unwittingly formed an intimate and complex bond, becoming interdependent on one another. Though it had been a long and difficult road, Harry had come to understand Snape and trust him like no other person he knew. Both were stubborn and proud and there was no controlling either one of them. They had helped each other just as they had hurt each other. It was only through mutual give-and-take that they had come to a kind of harmony.

The so-called answer had been right in front of him and Snape, if only this understanding of wild magic had come sooner...

_Now it's too late,_ he thought bitterly as he held Snape close.

Then suddenly Harry felt a gentle hum of endorphin-like energy build up around him, thumping in unison with his heartbeat. Harry reached out for the magic, but let it encompass him once more and without warning he was able to rein the power back into himself until there was nothing.

Everything was silent. Harry kept his eyes shut long after he felt the light fade. He stayed still not wanting to move, hoping to delay reality for a few moments more.

A soft flutter brushed against his cheek. Harry held his breath as he opened his eyes. Snape's eyes were open— his eyelashes brushing gently against Harry's cheek as he blinked in the morning light.

"You're awake," Harry whispered. "_My God, you're alive!"_

.o.

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AN:

I told you I wouldn't and I didn't. You know, I was seriously toying with the idea of leaving out the last section but I knew that was too evil, even for me! ;) I also knew that a lot of you would be mad if it looked like I axed our beloved Potion's Master. As it is I expect to get flamed from those who don't make it through the chapter.

This chapter was a beast to write—I knew exactly what I wanted to say but finding the exact right words proved to be more challenging than usual. My unending thanks for those of you who read this and have the patience to bear with me.

I hope folks stick around for next chapter, but I understand that my very atrocious updating and love of suspense and cliffhangers has made some readers run away screaming!

There's two or three more chapters planned. cries (maybe more if the muse allows)

Feel free to stop by the LJ and leave comments or just to say hi: griseldajane . livejournal . com

Thanks for reading. You guys are wonderful. See you next chapter!


	24. Regeneration

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for fun.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 24:

.o.

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.o.

_Then suddenly Harry felt a gentle hum of endorphin-like energy build up around him, thumping in unison with his heartbeat. Harry reached out for the magic, but let it encompass him once more and without warning he was able to rein the power back into himself until there was nothing. _

_Everything was silent. Harry kept his eyes shut long after he felt the light fade. He stayed still not wanting to move, hoping to delay reality for a few moments more._

_A soft flutter brushed against his cheek. Harry held his breath as he opened his eyes. Snape's eyes were open— his eyelashes brushing gently against Harry's cheek as he blinked in the morning light. _

"_You're awake," Harry whispered. "My God, you're alive!"_

Snape's breath fell gently against his cheek, such a soft and overtly simple thing sending a thrill of elation through Harry. Snape did not utter a word as his obsidian gaze found focus on Harry.

"Snape?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

For an instant—for just a moment— Harry saw a kind of peace there before crushing comprehension tainted his eyes with pain.

Not able to bear it, Harry suddenly jolted to life, deftly avoiding Snape's expressive eyes.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked, sweeping his eyes over Snape's bloody body, allowing his hands to follow suit. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he whispered as his hands went to the place where he knew a mortal wound was, only his fingertips miraculously found nothing but dried blood on smooth, undamaged skin.

Snape stilled Harry's roving hands with his own. Harry looked at him, his green eyes pooling with concern. Snape merely looked back at him, then shook his head to indicate _no_.

"The magic— it— _you_—." Harry faltered.

Suddenly a floodgate of pent up sentiment burst within Harry. Tears streamed unhindered down Harry's face. Everything he'd been holding in for weeks, every fear he had about Snape—every anguish—every loss— surged overwhelmingly to the surface.

Snape raised his hand, his long fingers brushing gently against Harry's wrist, having no strength to do anything more than simply rest there. That simple gesture of comfort, the slight weight of his hands, was all the encouragement Harry needed.

Harry flung himself down at Snape, wrapping his arms around him tightly while quiet tears of relief spilled down his cheeks on Snape's chest.

Allowing Harry this much-needed emotional outlet, Snape brought his arms around him, holding him, gently running his fingers through Harry's black hair, the plain motion soft and soothing.

Without any words spoken, Snape was telling him that everything was all right.

It was unbelievable, so _utterly unfathomable_ that Snape was alive, that Harry had this cache of unparalleled magic hidden inside him, that they were both in this situation to begin with that Harry could not take it all in. Instead he focused on regaining his composure.

After what seemed like an embarrassingly long time, Harry pulled away from him, roughly wiping at the tears. There were smudges of red on the front of his shirt where Snape's un-dried blood had collected.

Self-conscious, he looked away, trying to pull himself together. He couldn't believe he'd fallen apart like that. Harry hadn't cried in a long time.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, trying to sound as dignified as he could. "I don't know what came over me—"

"It is _okay_, Harry," Snape said gently raising a trembling hand to brush a wet streak from Harry's face.

The slow sensitivity of his actions and the complete fragility of his presence unnerved Harry—Snape had always been brash and bold from his caustic tongue right down to his stark black and white appearance.

Catching Snape's hand before he could withdraw it, Harry said, "You're shaking." Anxiously, Harry asserted, "You _are_ hurt."

_In more ways than I can see,_ he feared silently.

Though Snape did not utter a word, his eyes pleaded with Harry not to ask the question burning on his lips.

"I do not hurt— _Harry_—," Snape whispered softly. Then Snape's eyes fell shut and he said, "I am very tired."

This statement did nothing to assuage Harry's fears for it did not mean that Snape was not injured, it meant that he could not feel the pain.

"Let me help you," Harry said strengthening his grip on his hand and pulling Snape up into a sitting position.

Snape moved little by little, every motion deliberate and slow as if Snape had never moved before. It occurred to Harry that he simply did not have the strength.

It was difficult for Harry to watch, as Snape had once been so fluid as to give the illusion of gliding. Then again, Harry was glad that he was even moving at all.

For the first time since opening his eyes, Snape took a long look around the room. If he remembered what had been done to him there, he did not say it.

"Where are the Death Eaters?" Snape asked, turning back to Harry.

Though he fought the panic rising in his throat, Harry knew his distress was evident. "In the other room— I-I may have killed them," he rambled. "I-I don't know, I—."

"You didn't," Snape said calmly, silencing the panicky chatter.

It was exactly what Harry wanted him to say and exactly why he did not believe it. "How do you know?" Harry demanded.

"Because I know you," Snape replied.

"I _wanted_ them to die," Harry admitted darkly, "I was so upset that I could have _easily_ killed them."

"Harry, if you had killed them there wouldn't be any question," Snape said quietly. "You would know it."

Harry shook his head struggling with this explanation— he wanted to believe it, but he found it hard to.

"We must go from here," Snape said suddenly.

"Just leave them?" Harry asked incredulously, looking up. "What if they follow us— what if—."

"I don't know if I can stand, let alone take on any functioning Death Eaters," Snape admitted.

"I can't let Bellatrix off again!" Harry exclaimed. "I need to make sure that they can't escape— that they're apprehended by Aurors—_that the are—."_

"I know it is not ideal," Snape interrupted, "but going back in that room with the possibility of ambush is a risk that I am not willing to take."

"You don't have to— I'll go back myself," Harry argued.

"I'm not willing to risk _you_," Snape said pointedly.

"If they're not dead then I should make sure," Harry said. _I should make sure that they are_, he thought darkly.

Snape scrutinized him slowly, "And after you've killed them, what then, Mr. Potter? Will your anger truly be satiated through acts of murder?"

Harry looked away. As infuriating as it was to admit, Snape had a solid line of reasoning. He knew Harry's conscience better than Harry himself at the moment.

"Are you ready to face the Dark Lord now—_this_ precise moment?" Snape pressed. "For that is the risk you take going back there."

Harry considered this. If Death Eaters overpowered him, not only would he be sent immediately to Voldemort, it would certainly be the end for Snape—they would come back here and curse him with the Avada Kedavra. It was doubtful that Snape would be so lucky as to escape death a third time, especially in his current state.

Though Harry's want for vengeance was only slightly less than his need for Snape to live it was enough of a difference to settle the decision.

He and Snape had been given a second chance and Harry was not going to waste it.

"Is there a way to bind the ruins?" Harry asked. "Seal them inside so they can't leave?"

"Yes," Snape said slowly. "I don't know if it will work because of the decrepit state of this structure."

"It's worth a shot," Harry said. "It's better than just leaving them to chance."

"I agree," Snape said. "I'll tell you what to say. But first we must move outside."

Gently, Harry helped him to stand. Though it seemed that Harry's magic had healed the mortal wounds and brought Snape back from the brink, Snape was not unbroken.

"You look a fright," Harry said giving him a once over glance. "Let me…" he trailed off.

Snape nodded. Looking down at himself, at torn fabric, at the blood, Snape pressed his hand to his side where he'd been cut open as if remembering the experience through tactile recall.

Harry hastened with the cleansing spell. The blood vanished, leaving behind only stains of memories. He followed this with a repairing spell and Snape's ragged clothes reformed.

"Thank you," Snape whispered. He was visibly shutting down. Their conversation had stolen what little strength he had reserved and Harry was sure that whatever horrors Snape had endured at the hands of the Death Easters would come back to him if he kept still.

"Let's go, Professor," Harry said, linking his arm around Snape's.

"Yes, you are right," Snape replied. He let Harry guide him toward the door. The moved slowly together, but their steps were in sync.

Leading the way out into the sunlight, Harry squinted as the bright beams of light hit his face. He'd nearly forgotten what time it was, that not more than eight hours earlier he'd been keeping vigil over Snape, oblivious to the impending arrival of the Death Eaters. That seemed like years ago now.

Inundated with questions, Harry wanted to ask Snape so many things— _How are you alive? What did they do to you? Are you really going to be all right? _But now was not the time for such questions. All his energy needed to focus on getting out of there.

The old crumbling structure that the Death Eaters had taken them to was a lot smaller than Harry had originally thought. From the outside he realized that it was nothing more than the two rooms he had been in.

When they were little more than ten feet away, Harry stopped and asked, "How do I bind them inside?"

Snape turned slowly, looking back at the ruined structure. He did not speak for a long time, but his black eyes skimmed through the site, calculating whether the spell would take or not.

"I think it will hold," Snape announced after several minutes of silent debate. "Face the east," he instructed, gently turning Harry by the shoulders in the proper direction.

Squinting into the sunlight, Harry brought his hand up to shield his face from the sun and said, "but the building is over there."

"This is old magic, Potter. The only way I can think of to bind these old ruins is to appeal to its ancient nature. You must start by addressing the sun— _oriens_," Snape explained. "Close your eyes against the light."

Harry did as Snape said though he was growing impatient. He wasn't so sure this ancient stuff would work. "Have you ever done this before?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape admitted, "but I have seen it done. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, his wand ready at his side. He was afraid that they were running out of time.

"You start by saying the incantation facing the sun, then you must repeat the incantation as you walk around the perimeter. Don't stop until you've come full circle," Snape said.

"Right. Got it," Harry said. "What are the words?"

"_Constrictum Aeris_," Snape whispered. "Don't forget to address the sun."

Harry let out a short breath and whispered, "_Oriens."_ An amazing and unlikely thing happened— he felt heat emanating from the tip of his wand. Harry opened his eyes staring incredulously at his wand. He half expected the ancient spell not to work—that it did, and so quickly at that, surprised him.

"_Constrictum Aeris,"_ Harry said and he _felt_ the power surging through him. Continuing to murmur the incantation, Harry slowly made his way around the ancient structure. The seal felt heavy, although Harry could not see that anything was there.

This process took longer than he expected. Halfway around the ruins, his wand arm began to tire—the unexpected heaviness of the binding spell causing him to fatigue.

"Keep going, Potter," Snape called to him. "You're doing fine."

With satisfaction Harry came upon his starting point, thus closing the seal. He felt it click together, like a lock fastening in place.

Shaking his tired arm, Harry moved toward Snape.

"Good," Snape said, surveying him with a weary gaze.

"What now?" Harry asked.

"Do you think you've enough energy to conjure a Patronus?" Snape inquired.

"Out in the open?" Harry blurted.

"You have _just_ performed _magic_, as you say 'out in the open'. Moreover they have already found us, Harry," Snape responded with a trace of his old wit. "If there was ever a time to use magic, now would be it."

"Sorry," Harry replied sheepishly. "It just seems like a Patronus is… well, it's powerful magic."

"Yes," Snape said. "We can make do with nothing less."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I think I can."

"Send a message with it to Dumbledore relaying the location of the Death Eaters," Snape relayed. "He'll make sure they are apprehended."

Admittedly, Harry was very tired too. He'd been running for so long on adrenaline and sheer will power that it took him a moment of inspection to realize that he, too, was ready to drop.

_Not yet, Potter,_ he thought. _Just hold on long enough to get us out of here_.

Harry pointed his wand outward and shouted, "_Expecto Patronum_!" Bursts of silvery-white light erupted from Harry's wand and the form of a stag charged forth. It galloped in a wide circle coming back around towards Harry.

"Go to Dumbledore straightaway," Harry instructed. "Tell him we have captured Death Eaters here." He wasn't sure this was exactly the way you set instructions with a Patronus, but Snape did not have comments to the contrary.

The majestic creature dashed past him and shot off into the distance, a silver streak in the sky.

Turning to Snape to find out what was next, Harry was surprised by the look of wonderment on his face. Thinking back, Harry tried to remember if Snape had ever seen him cast his Patronus before.

"That was _effortless_," Snape replied. "Very good, Potter."

The ruins lay off an old dirt road and Harry realized that he had no idea where they were. Was that path in the distance the same road that had taken them to the Brennon's farm? He was fairly certain that they were still in Ireland… It was very likely that the Death Eaters were ordered to kill the traitor and leave his corpse behind to rot—the only reason for their delay in bringing Harry straight to Voldemort.

Not only did Harry not know where they were, he didn't know where they should be going either.

"Where are we to go from here?" Harry asked.

Snape's gaze followed along the old path stretched out before them. "Where ever that road takes us."

.o.

.o.

.o.

As they walked it was clear to Harry how debilitating the torture Snape had endured had been. Snape leaned more and more heavily against Harry until finally, he stopped walking altogether.

"Professor?" Harry prompted.

"I'm sorry, Potter," Snape whispered. "I can't..."

"It's okay," Harry replied. "Are you in pain?"

"_Yes_— no— _I_—." Snape shook his head. "I'm very tired, Harry. I think— I think I lost a lot of blood..."

"I know you did," Harry remarked quietly. Flashes of Snape lying deathly white with his black hair sprawled across his face in a growing pool of red coruscated in his mind.

"You must be exhausted," Snape said suddenly, peering up into Harry's face. "You've done a lot these past hours."

Harry almost felt guilty for allowing his exhaustion to show.

"We can stop here for a while," Harry said, looking around. From his viewpoint, there was nothing that indicated modern civilization had touched this place. "I'm not even sure where we're going."

He helped ease Snape to the ground, and then crouched beside him surveying the area. For miles and miles as far as Harry could see there was nothing but sweeping green plains dotted with dark trees and undergrowth. Old, stone walls divided the land into vast sections of green. Even the dirt road they were traveling on seemed to vanish in the atmosphere.

"We can't stay here," Snape said. "Not like this—exposed with Death Eaters at our backs."

"There's a good chance they were not able to follow us," Harry replied, adding to himself _because I probably killed them._

Snape turned to him as if he could read Harry's morbid thoughts and frowned.

"The binding spell, remember?" Harry explained hastily.

"Oh—yes," Snape said absentmindedly.

Harry forced his gaze to the landscape, trying not to show his worry. It was not like Snape to forget such things. Snape had not been himself since Harry had revived him.

Not for the first time he wondered what the consequences of his wild magic would be.

Snape had not done _any_ magic since the incident. He hadn't even asked for his wand. This worried Harry immensely. Was it that he was too fatigued to sustain any magic, or was it that he didn't have any magic left within him?

Harry prayed it was the former for he could not bear the thought that he had rendered Snape a squib. Was a live squib better than a dead wizard in Snape's eyes?

Amidst his ruminations, Harry caught sight of the hint of a structure hidden by a gathering of dark trees in the distance. Was it a dwelling or the remnants of a crumbling wall?

"Professor, I think I see a house," Harry said squinting into the distance. "It's hard to tell from this far away."

"Where?" Snape questioned his gaze following Harry's.

Harry shifted beside him, never taking his eyes from the structure in case he lost sight of it, and pointed over Snape's shoulder.

"Do you see it?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape replied.

"Do you think you can make it there?" Harry turned to look at him.

It might as well have been on the other side of the earth for Snape had hardly the energy to lift his head.

"Yes," Snape said finally, proving to Harry that the man's fortitude knew no bounds.

Offering him his hand, Harry helped him to rise to his feet. Snape swayed unsteadily, and Harry threw his arm around him to secure his trembling limbs.

Harry felt the pull of fatigue at his own body, but he forced himself to push it aside. There would be time for that later. Right now he had to focus on closing the distance between them and that structure.

They walked together in silence, but it was an easy silence for both were so intent on arriving at their destination that neither had energy to think over all that had happened to them and between them in the past twenty-four hours.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and the sun bore down impassively upon them. Harry supposed he should be thankful that it wasn't raining. He and Snape had already learned what a harsh task master the rain could be.

As they came closer, the structure Harry had glimpsed from so far away became completely obscured behind the trees. Harry feared that maybe his eyes had played tricks on him, but nevertheless, he kept his eyes trained on the grouping of towering yew trees until the long distance that had been between them had nearly closed.

They desperately needed to rest. Harry had performed an inordinate amount of magic within a very short time span and Snape had been nearly decimated, having been close enough to death to feel at odds with life.

"We're almost there, Professor. Look," Harry said, pointing to the gathering of trees in front of them.

Suddenly Harry tripped over something hard and solid, nearly pulling them both down to the ground.

"What the bloody—." Harry began.

"Easy, Potter," Snape chided. Tired though he was, he ventured a few steps away from Harry, peering at the object in the ground. "It's a grave marker," Snape said.

"We're in a cemetery?" Harry questioned, looking around for signs of other headstones.

"Not just a cemetery," Snape replied, gesturing ahead of him, "a churchyard."

Harry's gaze followed and he saw the remnants of a dilapidated, stone church. A worn, but still standing High Cross carved from sandstone marked the pathway to the church behind the irregular rows of headstones.

"Tread softly," Snape said, "for your feet walk upon hallowed ground." He looked over his shoulder and added, "Nothing makes the dead angrier than stomping over their graves."

Snape walked ahead of him and into the old building. Harry moved quickly to follow him.

Though the roof was partially gone, the archways and tall trees overshadowing church provided cool shade inside, a welcomed reprieve from the morning sun. Harry couldn't guess as to when the stone structure had been built but he could tell that no one had visited the church for a few decades at least.

Its unfortunate location among the trees blocked it from being seen by the road unless one happened to be looking for it. As it was, Harry was lucky to have spotted it at all.

Dust and dried leaves gathered inside the church with blades of grass and clusters of weeds poking through the seams in the flooring. Green and white lichen crusted many of the stones creating odd patterns on the floor and walls.

The church was empty. There were no pews or chairs, most likely having been pillaged ages ago, but an altar made from heavy stone still stood in the apse. The left side of the transept held the remnants of a statue, no doubt a patron saint of the area. Along the walls, there were a few bas-relief sculptures in a series depicting scenes from the Bible. That was all.

"I think this place is remote enough for us to rest for a little while," Harry said turning to find Snape steadying himself with the wall.

"_Sanctuary_. For a short time, perhaps," Snape said settling on the floor. Exhausted, he leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes.

All at once that tiring _drag_ Harry had felt in eyes and throughout all his appendages finally became too great. Harry suddenly found himself on the ground, and leaning back against the cool stone he thought, _I just need to rest my eyes_ and was soon fast asleep.

.o.

.o.

.o.

_Snape's back was to Harry and he seemed to be lost. Touching his arm, Harry turned him around. The moment his fingertips touched him he became white—his hair was white, his skin pale enough to match as well as the clothes he wore—all white._

_Harry jumped back as if burned._

"_The magic is gone," Snape said in a small, scared voice. "Why is it gone, Harry?"_

_Not knowing how to answer him, Harry merely shook his head. It was then that he noticed a splotch of pink forming at his side. The splotch became steadily bigger and darker until it seeped bright red through the shirt, spilling down his front in a spectacularly horrifying streak of crimson._

"_Everything is gone," Snape whispered. His coal black eyes were also changing, losing pigment as he lost blood, becoming gray and otherworldly until it was Snape's specter staring back at Harry with a despairing, hollow glare._

_To Be Continued…_

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's Notes:

I have received so many wonderful comments—thank you so much! The experience of writing this story has far exceeded my expectations.

As is usual, I am very sorry for the delay of this chapter. Real life demands became greater than I could ignore these past few weeks.

Your feedback on this chapter would be greatly appreciated. I am very curious to find out how it will be received.

Sadly, the story is nearing its close. I've been hemming and hawing about whether I have a story two in me. I can't imagine _not_ writing about Harry and Snape. Maybe something new will present it self soon. I must say that HBP was a plot killer for me.

Visit my livejournal for updates peppered with my real-life occurrences. ( griseldajane . livejournal . com ) Feel free to friend me. Also you can contact me privately via email, which is linked on my Bio page.

Thanks for reading. You guys are truly wonderful. See you next chapter!

- Li


	25. Corollary

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for fun.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 25: Corollary

.o.

.o.

.o.

_Snape's back was to Harry and he seemed to be lost. Touching his arm, Harry turned him around. The moment his fingertips touched him he became white—his hair was white, his skin pale enough to match as well as the clothes he wore—all white._

_Harry jumped back as if burned._

"_The magic is gone," Snape said in a small, scared voice. "Why is it gone, Harry?"_

_Not knowing how to answer him, Harry merely shook his head. It was then that he noticed a splotch of pink forming at his side. The splotch became steadily bigger and darker until it seeped bright red through the shirt, spilling down his front in a spectacularly horrifying streak of crimson._

"_Everything is gone," Snape whispered. His coal black eyes were also changing, losing pigment as he lost blood, becoming gray and otherworldly until it was Snape's specter staring back at Harry with a despairing, hollow glare._

.o.

.o.

.o.

"_No!"_

Harry's eyes snapped open and he forced himself awake. Pushing air from his lungs in determinedly slow measures, Harry tried to calm his racing heart. He had fallen asleep inside the church. There was still daylight, a few hours having passed at most.

_Just a dream_, he thought, though he had to admit that his dreams were oftentimes warnings.

After all he had been through, a dream like this was to be expected… he hoped. But still, what if it wasn't _just a dream_… what if this dream turned out like the last one—_true._

Two anxieties wrung his heart— first, that Snape was not as well as he appeared to be, that the mortal wounds he had sustained would surely re-manifest, and second, that he had lost all his magic when Harry healed him for Harry hardly understood the nature of this wild magic within him.

Aside from his obvious weakened state, Snape seemed to be fine— no gaping wounds were evident, not even a scratch. If he were hurt, Harry would have to wait until a symptom presented itself.

Harry's second concern, however, was more difficult to dispel. There had been no evidence to support or deny this fear. Snape simply had not done _any_ magic. Whether it was because he could not or because he did not want to, remained to be seen.

Why Harry had this fear, he could not say, only that the dream had shaped it in his mind. Snape felt _different_ to him somehow—somehow _less_ than himself yet somehow _more_. Pinpointing the exact feeling was impossible. It didn't make any logical sense.

Glancing over to where Snape had settled, Harry realized with a start he was no longer there.

"Of all the fool things," Harry whispered.

It was not a good idea for them to be separated right now. If more Death Eater reinforcements were to come or any bad character for that matter, Snape would be easy prey at the moment. Especially since Harry still had his wand.

_Outside_, Harry thought suddenly and he scrambled to his feet and made his way from the old church into the afternoon sun. That feeling he couldn't quite understand was luring him in a particular direction and Harry decided not to fight it.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Harry almost didn't see him at first. Snape was lying on his back in the overgrown grass between two rows of weathered headstones. He was a still shape in the gently swaying weeds.

Something had drawn Harry to him, though he didn't know what he would find, only that he was compelled to venture outside and hoped to find Snape.

The quiet roared around them; nothing but the sound of wind and nature surrounded them, the noise of civilization wholly absent. Two small birds flittered around each other and off around the old church. Bright bunches of yellow goldenrod and sweet specks of purple aster flowers peppered the landscape in sporadic bursts of color.

Snape didn't acknowledge him. Harry could not wait for him to speak before voicing his own intentions.

"I need to talk to you," Harry blurted out, but Snape was not listening to him. He was fixated on something.

"_I am abandoned among the dead,_" Snape whispered.

"What?" Harry questioned, coming around, crouching down beside him.

"_I am like the slain lying in their graves, those you have forgotten completely, who are beyond your help…"_ Snape raised his arm and pointed to the headstone in front of him._ "Do you perform miracles for the dead? …Are your miracles seen in that place of darkness or your goodness in the land of forgotten?"_

"Is that what it says?" Harry asked squinting at the rows of Latin. He was not nearly so well versed in the dead language as to translate entire sentences into coherent English.

"Psalm 88," Snape read aloud. "How appropriate that I should come to rest here."

"Who would put _that_ on a headstone?" Harry asked.

"The forsaken," he replied. "What is it you needed to tell me?"

Harry hesitated, not knowing how to begin and then launched into a flurry of words. "I should have told you the moment I suspected, but the truth of it was that I couldn't remember any details—it felt like _déjà vu_— but I didn't know _why—."_

"Potter, _what_ are you—," Snape ground out, only to be cut off.

"I _dreamed_ that you would be hurt— for days and days before it happened—but didn't realize it until I was running down that corridor and saw you lying there—."

"You couldn't have known it was a prophetic dream," Snape said quickly, "if that is even what it was."

"I'm almost certain it was," Harry insisted, "which is why I have to tell you—"

"You've had another dream," Snape finished.

Harry nodded, then told him about the haunting nightmare he'd just awoken from. "I have to know. Will this one come true?"

"It's your worries preying on your subconscious mind, Harry," Snape reassured him. "You've been through a lot—."

"Do magic for me," Harry interrupted. It was a command, punctuated by a black wand being thrust before the older wizard.

"Oh, Harry," Snape whispered. "Not right now."

"_Please_," Harry pleaded. "We don't know what my magic did to you—if anything at all. Try something. Whatever you want. Something easy— _lumos_ or _protego…_"

Snape stared up at the sky, his attention more focused on the clouds above than on Harry. Harry lowered his hand with the proffered wand, realizing that Snape was not going to comply.

"You can't do it. Or you won't do it," Harry said. "Not even for me." It was impossible to remove the hurt from his voice. At this point, Harry would have done just about anything for Snape, but it appeared that this sentiment was unrequited.

How had they ever become so mixed up in one another? Harry had thought this often during the summer and each time it still perplexed him.

Angry with Snape for _always_ being stubborn, Harry was angrier with himself for needing this from Snape.

_How can I forget,_ Harry thought. The man had given him so much already that Harry suddenly felt ashamed that he needed more from him.

For no reason other than the deep down instinct in his gut, Harry knew that his wild magic had changed Snape in some way. He just didn't know exactly how. This anxiety would twist Harry out of shape until he knew precisely what he had unwittingly done to Snape.

Unexpectedly, Harry felt a gentle tug as the wand pulled out of his hand. It flew swiftly across the distance between Harry and Snape to his outstretched hand.

Snape stared at the black wand, gently rolling it between his fingers as if he'd forgotten what it looked like. He then raised his arm above him, pointing the wand purposefully.

"_Flagrate,"_ Snape whispered and moving his wand arm from left to right he drew a fiery line in the sky. It burned brightly for a moment before the flame was doused as he ended the spell with a whisper.

Harry could not be sure, the magic was brief and gentle, but he thought he felt a tiny surge within him as Snape cast the spell.

_He did magic... for me,_ he thought. A smile spread across his face. The strange swell in him blossomed from uncertainty into joy. _He _can_ do magic._

"Now, you insufferable child, will you let me rest?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded, but did not leave. "You're going to stay here," he began, "between the graves?"

Snape showed no sign that he was going to move from the place where he lay. Instead, he questioned, "Are you afraid of a little dust and crumbling stone?"

"No," Harry scowled. "It's just a little... creepy."

"One day you will return to the ground. From it you were taken— _for dust you are and to dust you will return_," Snape quoted. "My day to return was very nearly today," he added softly. "Let me lay where I like, Harry."

Realizing that he really was not going to get up, Harry flopped down next to him. "What should we do now?" Harry asked as he lay back on the grass beside him.

The bunched masses of clouds in the bright blue sky drifted without hurry above him, slowly shifting into new forms and semblances.

Staring at the easy motion of the billowy clouds was hypnotic. As they rolled gently along, Harry saw images in the various shapes. A bulky cloud suddenly took specific form to his eyes.

"Whale," Harry said pointing to a large horizontal cloud with a gentle curve and slender tail.

Snape didn't say anything at this outburst. The only indication that he took notice at all was the slight cant of his head as he looked to see where Harry had pointed.

"We should stay here through the night," Snape replied after a long while. "The next town could be miles from here and I do not want to be traveling after dark."

"Okay," Harry said agreeably. He didn't want to travel at night either. He'd had his fill of cold, rainy nights. All the clouds in the sky could mean another wet evening was in store.

"Manticore," Harry stated suddenly, pointing out another shape in the clouds overhead.

"That does _not_ look like a manticore," Snape declared with a derisive smirk.

"Sure it does," Harry replied.

"Have you ever seen a _manticore_?" Snape asked. "_That_ is not what one looks like."

"Well, what does it look like to _you_?" Harry retorted.

Snape paused, his eyes fixed on the drifting, white masses high above them. "It's a kneeling man."

"With a tail?" Harry asked skeptically.

"That's not a tail that's the hem of his robe," Snape declared. He shook his head, saying, "I can not believe I am having an argument with you about what shapes the clouds are taking."

Grinning, Harry said, "That's half the fun."

Silence fell between them. Harry had to fill that quiet up with _something_ lest his mind start to wander back to the recent gristly happenings. He did not want Snape to dwell on it either. He wanted them both to forget the blood, pain and suffering they had endured.

"See, that one looks like Mrs. Norris," Harry said gesturing to another cloud. "Do you see it?" Harry prompted.

He turned his head and studied Snape's face. His eyes were half lidded and tension lines creased his pale skin. His exhaustion was evident. It unnerved Harry how eerily _still_ Snape was. As he had observed before, Snape just was not the same and Harry was beginning to worry that he would never be himself again. How long would it take?

Harry almost wished to hear Snape's trademark acerbic wit that never failed to put him back in his place, or even a few notches below it, if it meant that Snape would come back into himself.

"You mean that one that looks like a petrified kneazle?" Snape asked incredulously.

For an instant imaging Hermione's cat Crookshanks who was part kneazle, Harry laughed right out loud— it had been a long time since he'd felt such a light hearted reaction bubble inside him.

From the corner of his eye he could have sworn he'd seen Snape smirk and Harry thought for the first time that maybe everything would be all right.

.o.

.o.

.o.

The thunder was a low rumble, instantly sobering and ominous of the imminent danger it possessed.

A crow cawed and flew off from its perch to find shelter; the trees shimmied against the violent winds; little drops of rain crackled and spattered against the trees and the remnants of the roof— nature's choir.

Predictably, it was raining. They had moved inside when the sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon and the last rays of orange light stained the decaying gravestones. They had agreed to turn in early, all the better for a head start in the morning.

Harry stared up into the pitch-black ceiling, struggling to remember the clouds from that afternoon. He decided that he didn't like the night, when things quieted down and everything became still except for the mind. It was this time of day that his mind thrived, wild imaginings and remembrances running rampant through his thoughts.

Just as his imagination had seen images in the sky, he saw images in the blackness. Only these figures were not harmless whales or kneeling men but flashes of things that terrified him. Why did the dark bleed blackness into his thoughts?

His thoughts dwelled upon the Death Eaters, particularly Bellatrix, who had hurt both Snape and himself more than either one cared to admit. There was a time when thoughts of revenge against her had consumed him.

His objectives had changed now. What mattered most to him was no longer revenge, but Snape and his welfare.

It didn't matter so much that Bellatrix LeStrange was alive—that any of those Death Eaters who had tortured him were—

Harry sneaked a glace at the man to his right and realized that what mattered most was not the revenge he'd wanted, but the friend he had found.

_More than friend_, Harry thought.

Snape meant more to him than any retribution against Bellatrix could have. He wasn't turning his back on his father or Sirius or the reckoning he owed the Death Eaters. Harry knew that if he fostered any of these things, that Snape would die, in spirit and corporeally.

Harry had responsibility to him now. The man was fractured and it had been Harry who had selfishly pulled him from peaceful oblivion back into the waking world. Harry had not the courage to ask him what exactly he'd been pulled away from.

Unable to sleep, Harry knew that Snape was also lying awake. He remained in an unnerving quietus that reminded Harry of just how dire his condition had been.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could as if this would block out the thoughts accompanying _quietus_. This, however, did not work, nor did Harry's mantra of, _Don't think about it. Don't think about it. DO NOT think about it…_

It was too late, of course. The thoughts had already formed in the darkness of his mind.

"Professor?" Harry whispered, unable to keep quiet.

"Yes, Harry?" came the calm response from the shadows. The overcast evening obscured any light that the moon or stars could offer the nighttime. Harry strained in the dark to make out Snape's features.

"Are you all right… really?" Harry asked. "You seem different."

"I feel different," Snape admitted quietly.

Harry turned his head, staring in the direction of Snape's voice. "Back there…" Harry began, his voice soft. He did not need to clarify where _back there_ was, for they both knew perfectly well to which unspeakable place Harry was referring. "Do you— do you think you… _died?_"

There was a thoughtful pause before Snape answered, "No, or you would not have been able to restore me. As powerful as you are, I think rejuvenating the dead to back life is beyond even you."

"But you were close?" Harry whispered. His nervous hands played with the hem of his shirt. For a moment Harry was glad for the darkness, glad that it obscured the grief-stricken expression that was surely on his face.

"What's the point of all this Harry?" Snape asked instead. "It is not wise to dwell too long on the past." Somehow, despite the blackness, Snape _knew_ that Harry's heart was bleeding sorrow and offered this sound advice, which Harry completely ignored.

"I want to know," Harry said. _I have to know_…

"Why must you know?" Snape said sharply. "Why can't it be enough that it is over?"

"I've got to figure this out— this _magic thing_ that's inside of me," Harry blurted out. "I feel that _it_—that _I_ have changed you, but I don't know how or if for the better or if for the worse— I am _afraid_ of whatever the consequences of this magic turn out to be."

"Why are you so certain you have done something to me?" Snape asked. "This is about your foolish dream?"

Harry hesitated. "I can't explain it with words—it's just you feel different to me."

"I do not have the answer you think I do," Snape said. He sighed, a sorrow of his own enclosed in the soft groan. "I will tell you what I know, if only to set your mind at ease, though I doubt that it will."

Turning over on his side, Harry scrutinized the darkness, his eyes finding focus on Snape's shape.

"It was close," Snape murmured. "I remember very little of what happened after they were through with me… just that everything gradually stopped hurting."

"Oh," Harry said, his voice sounding small to his own ears.

"I can only remember two things; white and your presence," Snape stated.

"What did it feel like?" Harry breathed.

"Like you, I am at a loss to describe in words what I felt at that moment," he said with a tremble.

"Try," Harry pressed.

"There are no words," Snape said with an exasperated tone. "It was power, pure and simple."

"Was it… evil?" Harry whispered. "Could it have come from…Voldemort?" There was that silence that Harry was so keenly aware of.

"_Of course not!"_ Snape ground out. His anger took Harry aback. "You think the Dark Lord knows healing magic—knows _love_ like that? He knows nothing but hatred and base viciousness—"

Snape stopped abruptly realizing what he'd let slip. The magic that had restored him had felt like something very specific to Snape and it happened to be love.

Blushing red despite the cool evening, Harry realized that Snape must have _known_ his sentiment for him as the wild magic overtook him, must have known how deeply his heart had been broken when he thought Snape had died.

"So, the magic was not evil," Harry said lamely, trying to cover his self-consciousness. "That does make me feel better."

"Good," Snape said quietly.

Harry rolled over so that his back was to Snape. "I suppose I should get to sleep if we want to get an early start," he said.

Though Harry closed his eyes, he lay awake for a long time. Snape had been right; his admission had not put Harry's mind at ease.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Awakening to the sound of his own rumbling stomach, Harry opened his eyes and saw sunlight cutting sharply across the old church.

"Good. You are awake," Snape said, standing over him.

Sitting up, Harry twisted to look at him. "What time is it?"

"Just before seven," he answered. "We should head out soon."

Harry forced himself up and his aching body screamed in protest. What he wouldn't give for a decent bed to sleep in… Simple things like a decent meal and a respectable place to stay in were luxuries now.

Yawning and stretching his arms over his head to loosen his stiff back, Harry made his way outside.

The day was unspectacular. The rain had subsided by morning, but the overcast sky lingered. Though it was windy, Harry didn't think that it would rain. He felt like the weather would hold.

His eyes traveled from the white-gray sky to the top of the old church that had provided them refuge. It had been some kind of miracle that he had spotted the crumbling structure amid the overgrown trees in the first place.

_How many people have passed through here seeking sanctuary,_ Harry wondered. He walked around the side, taking a final look at the place. Who knew the next time that someone would?

The winds picked up again, rustling the trees overhead violently. Harry heard them groaning as they bowed to the wind. The towering yew trees, with their thick and gnarled branches, had survived many hard-earned years on the unkempt property. Some of the trees had dead limbs that looked parched and wrinkled, like an old man's skin.

With his black hair blowing wildly in the wind, Snape emerged from the church. Taking a cursory glance around, Snape called to Harry, "Are you ready?"

Watching him with a keen eye, Harry noted that while he was slow-moving, he was steady. He was fit enough to travel.

There was a loud snap and Harry looked up towards the noise in time to see a massive dead branch from the tree above hurtling towards him.

"Watch out!" Snape shouted.

Harry reached for his wand, but Snape was quicker and moved without thinking.

Snape halted the debris mid flight, straining to hold the bough with a spell that once would have been effortless. It would take time for his magical strength to rebuild but for now he struggled to push it aside.

"Potter, are you all right?" he asked as he magically tossed the large limb harmlessly away from Harry.

Harry was not all right. Staring wide-eyed at Snape he gasped, "Oh, _Merlin_—."

"What is it?" Snape said scrutinizing the boy.

"That spell— that magic— _it came from me_," Harry whispered.

Snape stared at him incredulously.

"I felt it as if _I_ had done it myself," Harry divulged, trying to clarify. "That magic was—."

"That's nonsense," Snape said sharply. But Harry could tell that no matter what Snape _said_, he didn't _think_ it was nonsense. In fact, an expression of panic flashed across his face and he looked like he might believe it to be true.

"You haven't done any serious magic since before—_it—_ happened," Harry reasoned. "Some how I knew—."

"You know _nothing_," Snape snarled, clearly upset.

"Do another spell," Harry said. "Maybe it will be different…"

Snape stared at him, outraged distress etched in the lines of his face.

"_Expelliarmus!" _Snape shouted angrily. Harry's wand flew high up in the air. "_Accio_ wand," he said catching the thin wooden instrument in his left hand. He stood a moment staring at Harry with bated breath before he staggered, the magic too aggressive for his weakened frame to withstand.

So shocked was Harry that he did not move to help him. Rooted to his spot, Harry whispered, _"I felt that."_

Breathing hard Snape threw Harry's wand back at him, too fazed to attempt magic. The message was clear, _Try something_.

Looking from the wand on the ground to Snape, Harry summoned his wand to him and said, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ A beautiful white stag materialized galloping across the sky streaking silver until it was out of view.

"You felt that, didn't you?" Harry asked, his green eyes bright with concern. "You felt _my_ magic."

A humorless laugh escaped Snape and his cold, forbidding gaze fell upon Harry. "We're _linked_," he hissed. His voice was caustic and it burned Harry to hear the anger directed at him. "You wanted to know the consequences of your untamed magic. This is your answer."

_To Be Continued…_

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's Notes:

Okay, I admit it. I'm completely terrible and very sorry for not updating in _forever_. I don't want to make excuses, but I've had a rough summer. If you are still reading this, then you have the patient of a saint. Thank you. Can't tell you how totally awesome it is that folks read this thing.

This chapter has a lot of stuff in it. It's actually longer than my average. Just to cite my sources, I did quote from the Bible in this chapter from Genesis 3:19 and Psalm 88.

Some weeks ago I did some HP art—a scene from chapter 24—as an apology for being crap at updating. If you haven't already, please check out my LJ for the link ( griseldajane . livejournal . com )

Comments are very welcome. I like talking to people. Want to chat about Harry Potter or _anything_ stop on by. Still looking for discussion on story two ideas. Got a really great thought, but needs more scheming to turn it into a story. Feel free to friend me at LJ, no need to ask.

Thanks again everybody! Li


	26. Share and Share Alike

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for fun.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 26: Share and Share Alike

.o.

.o.

.o.

_A humorless laugh escaped Snape and his cold, forbidding gaze fell upon Harry. "We're linked," he hissed. His voice was caustic and it burned Harry to hear the anger directed at him. "You wanted to know the consequences of your untamed magic. This is your answer."_

.o.

.o.

.o.

If he could be grateful for anything this morning, Harry was glad that it was not raining despite the sheet of white-gray clouds that canvassed the sky.

At least the weather was holding out in Harry's favor. Everything else in his life was against him at the moment. Maybe that was a bit dramatic, but Harry felt like his world, which, as of this moment consisted of a grand total of _two_ people, was crashing down around him.

Despite the morning's disturbing revelations, neither Harry nor Snape saw any point in delaying their departure from the old church. They had to find the nearest town before nightfall, as they did not have any inclination to spend another night in some makeshift hovel.

Following the only road, they walked in silence and it was far from companionable.

At least this tension with Snape was keeping his mind off of his grumbling stomach. Harry wasn't sure which was worse, his fatigue or his hunger or his roiling panic.

Harry chanced a look at Snape but his furtive glance was unnecessary; Snape was lost in his own ruminations.

Harry stifled a sigh and focused on the road ahead.

It was clear now that they were sharing their magic between them, though at the moment Harry's magic was predominant. Persistent nagging thoughts— _But what if it's more than just magic_— _what if we share my life between us as well?— _weighed heavily on Harry's mind.

Snape had been so decimated by the nasty hex and the Death Eaters' torture that the only way for the wild magic to restore him was to bond him to another. _As if the magic has a will of it's own._

More questions arose than answers. Was this development permanent? Would Harry forever feel each time Snape performed magic and vice versa? Perhaps it was only temporary— as Snape healed so too would his magic. Only time would tell.

But Harry didn't think he could wait it out.

Snape was angry and Harry couldn't blame him; he'd be angry too. Hell, he _was_ angry, a sort of helpless anger that boiled from self-righteous to self-directed. Harry blamed himself. Guilt overwhelmed him. This was _entirely_ his fault. Snape had done nothing but protect him and simply by being Harry Potter he had hurt him in return.

When he couldn't stand the silence anymore, Harry drew up his courage. "Professor?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Potter, _please_," Snape snapped.

This wouldn't be easy. No, this would be just as difficult as any adversary that Harry had faced. "I just—."

"_Don't,"_ Snape said. He stopped, and broke pace. "Just don't." His hands were raised, palms facing Harry to keep him a safe distance away. "Give me time. You must understand how _difficult_ this is."

And Harry thought he understood. Snape's entire identity was wrapped up in his ability to perform magic and perform it well. Knowing that this private, personal talent was no longer his own, but was borrowed from someone else (not just anyone else, the son of an adversary), must be an unbearably heavy weight in Snape's mind.

Harry's words had stopped their step, but the road slanted down, its vastness stretched out before them, and so they continued on.

"Where do we go from here?" Harry asked.

"To the nearest town— muggle or wizarding," Snape replied. "We need a proper place to _be_ for a while."

Harry wasn't about to argue. He hadn't felt this weary in a long time. It felt like a year had passed since he'd slept in a real bed or eaten a meal.

He thought suddenly of Leonora and how kind she had been in opening her home to him. She had been so accepting of Harry, unquestioning any part of him, even his hatred for Snape whom she loved, and she had extended the same unwavering kindness to Snape.

Maybe they both should take a page out of Leonora's book if they were to get through this linking thing. Harry decided he would write to her as soon as they had settled somewhere.

They were walking in the basin of a valley and the path began to hill upward.

_Do not think about food_, Harry thought as they continued to walk. Even if he were suddenly confronted with a meal, he would probably be too exhausted to eat it.

"Stop," Snape said suddenly and Harry halted mid-step.

"Someone is coming," he said, his head angled to one side as he listened to the sound of dirt crunching under careless footfalls.

They watched the path at the top of the valley where they knew a person would emerge shortly.

The top of a kerchiefed head, followed by the small shoulders and skinny build of a little girl rose over the lip of the valley. She was a meek little thing holding a wicker basket at her elbow. As she noticed them she faltered a step, but did not stop as she made her way down the path.

Despite his weariness, Harry felt a smile creeping to his lips. She was just a little muggle girl. And they were two wizards. She had more to be afraid of than they did yet she approached without fear.

"Hullo," she said as she passed. Her eyes darted from Harry to Snape and shifted back to Harry.

"Hi," Harry replied quickly. "Excuse me, but how far are we from town?"

She paused, fixing him with a curious stare. "Not far."

"And, uh, what town would that be?"

"Why, Laurelwood," she said as if that were the most absurd question ever posed to her. "How is it that you don't know where you are?"

"We've just been walking a long time and thought maybe we'd gone off course," Harry said, improvising. Harry did not have to look at Snape to know that he was rolling his eyes.

"Just follow the path," she said. "It won't lead you astray. A small town, a village really— but Laurelwood will do right by you."

"Thanks," Harry said as she continued past them.

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry who shrugged. "Well at least we know where we are."

"Wherever _that_ is," Snape said.

As they came to the top the road sloped downhill and they were able to see a town within walking distance. Harry even noticed a paved road meeting up where this dirt one had diverged. There were a few houses with properties large enough to be considered small farms that sat on either side of the road before it spread and became the densely populated street.

It was a quiet day with few cars on the road and even fewer people in their yards.

As they walked down the street, Harry suspected that they must look very near what the living dead would look like if they were strolling down a muggle street late in the afternoon.

Suddenly Snape stopped and Harry nearly walked into him. They were in front of a stone façade building with white shutters. With engraved, gold painted letters the sign swinging from the post read, RATHMORE HOUSE.

For all intents and purposes, it was a bed and breakfast.

They had to take a chance. "This is just as good as any," Snape said and led them inside.

Eyes burning with fatigue, Harry looked around the warmly lit lobby with a sense of wonder. Though the inn was small its splendor could not be ignored.

The Rathmore House had once belonged to the wealthiest family in the area, but nearly six decades ago the last of the Rathmore's had died and the estate had been sold and converted into an inn for the growing tourist population. Or so the brochure said.

As he leaned against the front desk and took in the place, Harry realized that they had probably wandered into the most expensive hotel in the area.

He rubbed at the dirt on his hands and said, "They are not going to give us a room looking like this."

"You be quiet," Snape said, but not without a trace humor.

Just then a plump man in a navy blue suit came around the corner and behind the desk. "May I help you?" he asked, smiling at them as if they both weren't wrecked from head to toe.

.o.

.o.

.o.

He didn't know how Snape had convinced the desk clerk to give them a room with no credit card or cash in hand, but as Harry slid the card key into the slot he secretly praised Snape for his cunning, deceptive ways.

It wasn't the Ritz; still, Harry might as well have died and gone to heaven.

The room was luxurious compared to his living conditions for the last few weeks. There were two large beds, with an abundance of pillows and a throw across the end; a small table with two glasses placed on paper coasters with the hotel insignia; a huge boudoir with a television hidden inside and six empty drawers below; a writing desk with an antique lamp and a rotary telephone; large sheer curtains covered a door which slid back to reveal a small balcony; and best of all a clean, well lit, bathroom well stocked with fresh towels and complimentary soaps and shampoos.

Harry had never been so glad to see soap in all his life.

"I'm—." Harry began, looking towards the bathroom and no further explanation was needed. A cleansing spell was one thing—a hot bath was another.

"Right," Snape replied. He looked gray with dark circles under his eyes. Sheer stubbornness had carried him this far. Considering the condition he'd been in mere days earlier, Snape was actually doing quite well.

_Maybe Snape didn't have to do any convincing,_ Harry thought as he closed himself in the well-lit bathroom._ Maybe_ _the clerk took one look at him and gave us this room out of pity._

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, Harry decided that his appearance wasn't much better than Snape's.

Harry ran a hot bath to soak in, easing himself into the warm water with a humbling appreciation for such a simple, basic task. Even while living under the Dursley's roof where he had been deprived of many things, he had never been so glad for a bath as he was at this moment.

Over an hour later, when he finally emerged from the bathroom, Harry's first thought was _bed_ but that was quickly overturned by the scent of food. The hunger pangs in his stomach intensified, no longer willing to be ignored.

There was a covered room service tray on the small table. Harry opened his mouth to ask Snape what he had ordered, but his jaw promptly snapped shut when he saw that Snape was curled on his bed, sound asleep. Or perhaps he'd simply fallen unconscious, his body finally succumbing to fatigue.

In a way, Harry was relieved. He needed _anxiety-free _time away from Snape to recharge his energy. Constantly battling or conversely worrying about Snape was simply exhausting.

If this food was meant for Snape then he would just have to order more when he woke up because now that Harry knew the food was there, there was no way he was _not_ eating this food. He was ravenous.

Harry picked up the tray and, balancing it with his hip and one arm, he slid back the balcony door and stepped outside. He set the tray on the round glass table and dropped into a patio chair.

They had a lovely view of the town from this balcony. The evening was cool, but it was peaceful.

On the tray there was a chicken sandwich and cup of soup with an apple and a chocolate biscuit. Harry devoured all of it in less than five minutes. For the second time that evening, Harry felt humbled by something so ordinary, such as eating.

Though Harry was beyond exhausted he remained out on the balcony for a few minutes, letting the quiet evening soak into his skin. He pushed all his troubling thoughts out of mind and focused on simple, meaningless things, like the squeaking sound his chair made when he shifted his weight or the splatter of dripping water against the tile floor from the ledge above.

When Harry felt calm and numb he went back inside and headed straight for his bed. He needed sleep more than he needed to think.

But as he lay there his mind would not let him rest. All at once Harry felt aimless. Snape didn't know what was to come next anymore than Harry did. And that scared him a little.

What did it mean to be magically linked to another person? What did it mean for _them_? Aside from the Dark Mark that Voldemort bestowed on his followers and Harry's own scar, he couldn't think of another example of a link between two wizards. How could he undo this _thing_ he had done?

He had done wrong and may not be able to undo it. Terror struck him; his heart and mind had been running marathon loops, first he was calm and rational and then breath-crushing panic filled him.

There would be no sleep tonight. Harry got up quietly and paced the floor.

"Potter," Snape said quietly, his voice gravelly from disuse. "What is it?" In the dark, Snape's eyes were impossible to see, but his tone of voice was mild as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed.

"It's nothing," Harry said. He forced himself to sit back on his bed. "Just a bit restless."

"Restless?" Snape repeated.

Harry nodded but would not look at him. Harry was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep yet his mind just wouldn't stop. It hadn't been much different back at the church when he'd stayed up wondering what was off kilter. Now that he knew, he _still_ couldn't sleep.

_He could be dependant on me forever—what kind of life is that for either of us?_ Harry's thoughts were running away._ There was nothing I could do! If he wishes he were dead, then I don't know how I'll—_

"Harry," Snape's voice broke through the fog in Harry's head. While Harry had been lost in thought, Snape had risen from his bed and moved across the small aisle between them.

He crouched down slightly below Harry's eye level, placing his hands on either side of him on the mattress.

"I still need time to _process_ all that has happened," Snape said. "But I can see that I need to talk to you now before you drive yourself mad."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I would think by now that you would have learned not to take everything I say to heart. Perhaps I should be scolding myself for not learning that you _do_ take everything to heart… I am still not quite myself," Snape admitted. "But it _is_ okay."

Harry stared at him.

"These many weeks you have endured more than can be expected of anyone," Snape said.

Harry nodded dumbly, his eyes fixed to his lap.

"Harry," Snape said again, laying his hands on his shoulders, wanting to be certain that Harry understood. "Be proud of all you have done," he said. "As I am proud of you."

Harry gaped. _No way Snape just said that. _

"I owe you this very moment—this very breath I am breathing," Snape said. "For I surely would have died twice over had it not been for you."

Harry's hands rested on the mattress and he tightly balled them into fists, letting his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms until it hurt—just to make sure he wasn't dreaming this. _This is real._

"Then you—you don't regret—."

"I want to live because of you," Snape said simply.

It was _staggeringly_ simple, so plainly stated and barefaced, that Harry felt the urge to cry. Snape had been so cold with him earlier he thought that they would never get back to where they were and now—now _this_ brazen admission lay exposed before him

This was the closest Snape would probably ever come to admitting any kind of true affection for him. Harry felt his heart swell.

"You need to rest," Snape said. "We still have a lot to talk about and I don't have energy for that now." He stood, moving back across the room, and sank to his bed.

Though Snape's hands were gone from his shoulders, Harry felt a gentle calm weighing on him as if his hands were still resting there. It was as if Snape had transferred the same peace from his words into Harry's anxiety-ridden frame.

As Harry fell to sleep he thought that it was like their magic, passing from one to the other as needed without hindrance or ill intent.

.o.

.o.

.o.

When Harry awoke the next day, warm sunlight was filtering in through the sheer curtains from the balcony. He sat up abruptly, forgetting where he was for an instant.

_Linked—Rathmore—Snape—_ Harry thought suddenly. He dropped back against the mattress and sighed. Rolling over Harry looked to see what time it was and found a note written on hotel stationary with Snape's spidery script propped up against the digital clock.

_Meet me in the lounge when you are ready. –S_

Harry pulled back the note and saw red numbers that read _2:17_ on the screen. He'd been sleeping for nearly fifteen hours straight, which was the most he'd slept in days.

Pushing himself up, Harry stretched until his back gave a satisfying _pop._ He scrubbed his hands over his face then brushed them through his unruly hair. Despite all the sleep, he was still weary and suspected he would be for a long time after this trip.

Though his clothes had been cleaned and repaired magically and were perfectly fine, Harry wished he had another set with the same want he had wished for a bath. Sometimes magic couldn't replace the comfort doing and having these things himself could give him. The clothes he wore were all he had; they'd left all their possessions back at the Brennon's farm.

Harry didn't now how long ago Snape had left that note, but he decided his appearance in the lounge was probably well past due.

.o.

.o.

.o.

He found Snape sitting at a small table in the back of the lounge sipping a cup of tea and reading a muggle newspaper, wholly ignoring the young girl folding napkins in the corner. He was alone, save for the girl.

It was the same girl they had passed on the road and she was staring at Snape unabashedly trying to gain his attention. She pulled each wrinkled napkin from the pile in front of her with a flourish before catching it in two hands with practiced proficiency and folded it neatly. This girl was nowhere near as meek as Harry had originally surmised.

Harry smirked; that girl didn't stand a chance against Snape's snubbing skills. He was a pro.

"You know," Harry began, coming up to his table. "It wouldn't kill you to acknowledge her presence."

"It might," Snape said. He didn't look up from the paper as Harry sat down.

"She will stop trying to get your attention if you just look at her," Harry said.

"No, she won't," Snape said.

Harry turned in his seat and glanced at the girl. She smiled brightly and came bounding across the room.

Snape shot him a peeved _I told you so _look over the top of his paper.

"Hi," the girl said. Her apron had the name _Hannah_ embroidered into it which had been embellished with various magic markers to create a rainbow effect. "Can I get you anything? Napkin?" she asked, holding up a freshly laundered one from her pile.

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting the proffered napkin from her, though there were plenty already on the table.

"I remember you from the road," she said. "Isn't it funny that you two should come here to my inn?"

"This is your inn, is it?" Harry asked with a bemused smile.

"Well, technically it's my folks' place," she clarified, "but I help too!" Suddenly she leaned across the table. "See?" she said, pulling a vase with a daisy towards her. "I picked this yesterday right after meeting you. Mum says I have too much energy this time of year. She says I'm underfoot and liable to drive her to drink."

"I'll bet," Snape muttered from behind his newspaper.

Harry shot him a look, but Snape obstinately did not glance up from his reading. The girl chattered on as if Snape had said nothing.

"This place has been empty for days now," she said. "Nothing to do now that tourist season ended. Everyone's back at work and school and—."

"What's the date today?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Why, there you go with those silly questions again!" she remarked. "It's September sixth!"

Harry's eyes went wide and he tore the newspaper from Snape's hands, hastily flipping and smoothing the paper down. There in black and white, printed in neat inarguable letters, it said _Friday, September 6th_.

"September sixth," Harry repeated. "_September sixth!_ Term started _six days ago—_ I knew I'd lost track of the days, but _September sixth_—."

"Harry," Snape said with warning. "It's okay."

"Dumbledore said—he _promised_—."

"_Enough_," Snape said, his voice calm but commanding.

"You supposed to be in school?" Hannah asked.

"Yes," Harry replied, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

"I thought boys didn't like school," she said. "At least none of the boys I know like school. We started back up this week and Billy McBrodie is already trying to—."

"Hannah," a voice called from way of the kitchen. "Are you finished with those napkins?"

"Oh, that's Mum," she said quickly.

"Are you bothering the guests again? If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times…" Hannah's mother said, her voice fading as she walked away from the door.

"I'd better go. Bye, Harry. It was nice talking to you!" Hannah said with a little wave over her shoulder. "Maybe next time I'll get to talk to your friend."

As soon as Hannah was out of earshot Harry angrily pushed the newspaper back across the table at Snape and said, "Dumbledore said that we'd be back before school started up again."

"Did Dumbledore actually _say_ that, Potter?" Snape asked.

Harry thought back to his last conversation with Dumbledore, it seemed like years ago now, and realized that the Headmaster did not actually promise him anything.

"Well, he may not have said it, but he certainly implied that this would be a summer gig," Harry replied.

"Really," Snape said. "I wasn't aware that the Dark Lord worked around the school schedule."

"I just want to go back home," Harry said softly.

"I know."

Harry sighed. "Is there any way to get a wizard paper? Maybe Hogwarts didn't open on time this year with the Death Eaters breaking through the wards," Harry suggested hopefully.

"Harry, there have been Death Eaters or worse in the castle nearly every year that you have attended and the school has always managed to open on time," Snape said.

"He can't have forgotten us," Harry said.

Snape smirked. "No, it only _seems_ that way, Potter. But he'll send word when it's the right time. Not a moment before or after."

A waitress came up to their table, a pleasant looking woman with blonde hair swept up in a bun, to ask if they needed anything else. Harry suspected that this might be Hannah's mother trying to smooth over any irritation her daughter may have caused to the only two patrons staying at the Inn.

Snape gestured openly, indicating that Harry should ask for whatever he wanted. Grinning, Harry ordered what could be considered a small feast. Snape added another pot of tea to the request and the waitress took off to place the order.

"What passes for muggle news these days is incredible," Snape said absently as he turned another page of the paper.

"Have you come across anything… suspicious?" Harry asked. By suspicious he meant anything that could be considered wizard news.

"Not yet," Snape said and continued to read.

Harry fidgeted with the silverware on the table, turning his spoon from top to bottom, over and over on the tabletop. He wanted to talk to Snape about what had happened, but knew his topic of interest was an explosive one.

He had so many questions that still needed to be worked out. _What happened to us? What does this link mean for us?_

"Potter, whatever it is that you want to say," Snape said as he brought his teacup to his lips, "you might as well say it or stop that squirming at once."

Harry put down the spoon and stared at the tablecloth trying to figure out the best way to start. _Might as well jump right in._

"This link," Harry began conversationally, trying to sound calmer than he felt, "is it permanent?"

Snape put down his teacup and surveyed Harry coolly. "I don't know for sure," he said. "But I don't think it can be undone without consequence."

"Why do you think that?" Harry heard blood rushing in his ears. "If something were to happen—to the link," and the only consequence that Harry could think of came tumbling out, "I mean—would you die?"

"My, all these questions," Snape said. He lifted the teacup to his lips again, taking a quiet sip. "Probably."

Harry paled a little.

"Potter, before you panic please keep in mind that I don't know anymore about this than you do. This is a new one, even for me."

"Then why would you _say_ something like that?" Harry shouted.

"Does that upset you?"

"You're damn right it upsets me!" Harry said angrily. "You're so callous sometimes, you know that?"

Snape smirked. He was enjoying Harry's carryings on.

"Stop laughing. It's _not_ funny," Harry insisted.

"Can I help it if I find your theatrics highly entertaining?" Snape asked with a raised eyebrow, with the intent of provoking Harry.

"_You_," Harry said, emphasizing the word, "are avoiding my original question."

"Which was?" Snape asked, though he dropped his gaze to his teacup as if to concede the point to Harry that he was giving him the runaround.

"Why would you die if the link is broken?" Harry posed.

"I don't know that I will," Snape said. "But it seems entirely plausible."

Harry made a strangled noise of frustration at Snape's half answer. "Why can't you be straight with me?"

Suddenly Snape leaned forward across the table, his own annoyance clearly set in the lines of his face. "_Think,_ Potter! Don't be obtuse. Of the two of us, _you_ were the one who was conscious—_think_ about what you _felt_ then— exactly _how_ did you revive me? I know that you know."

"_I don't know how it happened!"_ Harry shouted. "The magic did what it did—I had nothing to do with it!"

"You can't have it both ways, Potter. You can't feel guilty for what your magic did to me and then have no claim as to how I was healed," Snape said.

Suddenly Harry thought about what they had discussed while lying awake on the stone floor of the church.

_You think the Dark Lord knows healing magic—knows _love_ like that?_ Harry recalled these words and the sentiment that made them true. There was no other description as fitting as this: His heart had broken when he thought Snape had died, shattered the way freezing water trapped within rocks breaks them apart.

He remembered the way the magic had flowed from him, breaching beyond the boundaries of his body and of Snape's and of the room's and of the world's, how the earth itself had _stopped_ for a fleeting, terrifying instant. He remembered tickling warmth pooling around their bodies, the magic finally coming under his mastery, and his _eureka_ moment of _symbiosis._

An understanding came to Harry so swiftly and so simply that he nearly laughed. The magic had used a piece of his broken heart to mend the wound in Snape. Not just the physical wound, but also the wound in his life force, the wound at the source of his magic.

And of course, Harry couldn't really blame _the magic_ at all. It had been his own desperate wish for Snape to live, no matter what the cost.

Harry had really had the answers all along, right from the moment when he had understood that the nature of his and Snape's relationship was symbiotic, just like his wild magic.

_Like our magic is now_, he thought. Harry had just been too overwhelmed by everything to see it.

At most, Snape could only have suspected what had happened to them and guessed at the reasons behind it; he needed affirmation from Harry.

And here Harry was demanding answers from Snape.

"Oh," Harry whispered.

That simple remark was all the confirmation Snape needed.

"You mended me with a piece of yourself, thus creating the link," Snape said. "If you remove the mend, I will most likely unravel."

Harry looked into his black eyes and saw something more than acceptance, saw something that disturbed him—Snape was willing to give back that piece Harry had bestowed upon him if Harry wished it.

"I'm sure there are ways to break the link," Snape said. "I'm not concerned about coming apart."

"Don't be ridiculous—you think I'd go through all the trouble of patching you up with a piece of _myself_ and then rip out the stitches?" Harry questioned. "No way. You're stuck with me."

"You say this now," Snape began. "You wait. You'll tire of the link within three days."

"You'll fold before I will, Snape," Harry said with a smirk.

"I think you're forgetting who's the Slytherin here," Snape replied.

Before Harry could get in another word the waitress came with a large tray of food and a new pot of tea.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Harry breathed a little bit better now that Snape had managed a conversation about their magical bonding. Small though the conversation was, Harry counted his blessings. At least the earlier resentment directed at him, that had burned so brightly in Snape's eyes, had subsided. For the time being anyway.

It was a little after four o'clock as they climbed the stairs to second floor where their room was. While they were staying at this splendid Inn, Harry was determined to take full advantage of the soft beds and full bath. He would sleep for a solid month if his thoughts would let him.

The same circuit of questions rotated annoyingly through his skull. Harry still wanted to know if the link was permanent or if it would fade as Snape recovered, but time was the only answer to that question no matter how many times Harry pondered over it.

They both had been extremely conscious of their own magic. It was a little more than odd to know that whatever spell one would perform the other would feel it—it was like an invasion of privacy and it raised even more questions.

If they weren't together or within eyeshot, would Snape be able to tell exactly what spell Harry used or would he merely feel the strain of magic being performed? Would the intensity of the pull be greater or weaker depending on their physical distance from each other? Did that even matter?

Harry simply didn't know and wouldn't know until they tested each of these theories. Again, Harry sighed, only time would tell. And he didn't _dare_ bother Snape with any more questions or Snape was likely to put a silencing charm on him, magical link be damned.

As he pushed the card key into the lock, Harry heard something moving within the room. He paused at the door, listening.

"Harry?" Snape asked as he stilled.

"Something's in there," he replied. They were both silent as they listened carefully. There was a dull tapping, as if someone was knocking faintly on the other side of the door.

Pulling his wand from the waistband of his pants, Harry pushed open the door, ready for action.

The lights were off and the room was empty, exactly the way Harry had left it. He entered the room carefully, Snape close behind him.

A shadow fell across the sheer curtain covering the balcony door as something perched itself on the back of a patio chair.

A familiar _warble_ met Harry's ears. He glanced back at Snape before racing to the balcony and throwing back the sliding door.

"Professor!" Harry shouted, stepping outside. "Come quick!"

In an instant Snape was at the balcony door. "What is it, Potter?"

Harry turned towards him, his arm raised just below his shoulder, with Fawkes resting appreciatively on his arm.

"This means…" Harry's voice trailed off as has he stroked the soft red feathers down the phoenix's back.

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "Dumbledore has sent for us. We can go home."

_To be concluded…_

.o.

.o.

.o.

Author's notes:

Well, better extremely, unforgivably, and ridiculously late than never—right?

Just so's you know, I completely made up the town of Laurelwood. Thought it would be better for everybody that way. So, if there is such a place, that's not the one I'm talking about:)

Well, guys, just one more chapter to go. Thank you so very, very much for reading _this far_. I'm grateful for all the reviews, emails and comments. Can you believe we're almost at the end? I can't! The story has definitely had its ups and downs. I'm almost embarrassed by how bad some of the chapters are, but some chapters, I'm very pleased with.

It's been wonderful! If you have any questions about the story, now is your very last chance to ask me, what, with one chapter left to go. Comments welcome!

You all are always welcome to visit my LJ page, where I discuss HP, my life, and lately _Supernatural_ (yes, yet another fandom), but I'm open to talk about pretty much anything. griseldajane . livejournal . com

Feel free to friend me. No need to ask. Email is linked in the bio page. Don't be a stranger! I love to chat.

Many thanks,

Li


	27. Journey Home

Standard Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his wondrous world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is just for fun.

Summary: Snape's position as a spy is compromised when Harry's life is threatened. The beginnings of a journey together...

Spoilers: For all the books since I've read them all at least once… by the way, this story "takes place" after book five… but before book six, which leads me to...

Warning: This story is rated R (or by this site's rating system, M) for previous and upcoming chapters, including child abuse, graphic violence and the like. If you are bothered by such themes, I suggest that you do NOT read this story.

Please note that this story is NOT HBP COMPLIANT.

.o.

.o.

.o.

Circumstance

by Libellule

Chapter 27: Journey Home

.o.

.o.

.o.

Harry couldn't believe it. No, it definitely had to be another dream. But Fawkes was as real as anything, Harry thought as he stroked the phoenix's plumage, suddenly feeling a pang of longing for Hedwig.

Snape was downstairs at the front desk, arranging their checkout for the morning while Harry had been instructed to pack. But so far all he could do was sit on his bed and stroke Fawkes' feathers. Not that he had anything to pack anyway, which was probably why Snape had set him the task.

After their long journey together, avoiding magic and Death Eaters, the journey home was to be simple and straightforward.

They would take a ferry across to the UK where a portkey had been arranged to take them as close to Hogwarts as the protective wards would allow.

Harry had laughed bitterly when Snape had relayed the coded message carried by Fawkes—their journey had been grueling, nearly running them both threadbare, and now Dumbledore had arranged for quick and easy transport when it suited him.

Snape had been quiet for a moment, listening to Harry rant on angrily about Dumbledore and the games he played with everybody.

"It's like we're nothing more than pawns in a game of chess he's playing with Voldemort!" Harry fumed.

"Harry," Snape said calmly. "He has a lot to consider—."

"How can you defend him?" Harry shouted. "He played chance with your life! He put a spell book in my hand and instructed us not to use magic and only hoped that it would be enough to save you from that awful parasite and us both from those Death Eaters."

"He did that for me," Snape said. "I would just as soon have died."

So incredulous at that admission, Harry could only shake his head and shoot Snape an angry look of disbelief.

"Things are different now," Snape said simply. He was quiet a moment more before he added, "Now that Hogwarts is secure, it's the best place that you can be. Don't you want to return to Hogwarts, Harry?"

Something twisted inside causing Harry to hesitate. Turning away from Snape, he said, "Of course I do."

That was when Snape left to make arrangements for their departure.

Fawkes chirped pleasantly, nudging Harry's still hand with a wing, prompting him to resume stroking the soft feathers.

He thought of Ron and Hermione— this was the longest period of time that he'd been without contact from them since he met the unlikely pair. He missed them so much, but why was he uneasy about returning to Hogwarts? That he had not immediately shouted out a resounding _yes_ when Snape had asked troubled Harry immensely.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Fawkes," Harry whispered. "Of course I want to go back to Hogwarts. _Of course I do_." But he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.

For weeks and weeks, Harry had obsessed about this moment—the instant when he would be sent for and could escape Snape's miserable custody. He remembered the angry disappointment he'd felt when Dumbledore told him that he'd have to seek refuge in Ireland with Snape for many weeks. The sliver lining had been ripped away. But now that the moment had _finally_ arrived—he would most likely be in Gryffindor Tower in a little more than 24 hours—Harry wasn't ready.

At that instant, the door opened and Snape walked through, a brown wrapped package in his hands.

"Do we need to sneak out the back?" Harry asked, forcing a smile.

"As a matter of fact—no," Snape said.

"How did you arrange it?" Harry studied him. "You didn't use magic." It wasn't a question, for Harry would know through the link whether Snape had used magic or not.

"A Mr. Dumbledore has taken care of our bill," Snape replied. "He's taken care of everything."

"So we're leaving in the morning, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Snape said. "We'll be back at Hogwarts by tomorrow night."

Fawkes flew from Harry's arm to Snape, who set him with the message that they'd be leaving in the morning and back on school grounds by evening. Snape crossed to the balcony doors, stepping out with Fawkes. The phoenix chirped as if to say goodbye and took off in flight towards Hogwarts.

Snape stepped back into the room, closing the doors behind him. There was an awkward silence between them, neither wanting to start a conversation about the obvious—_we'll be going our separate ways._

It felt odd to think that soon Harry would look up and Snape wouldn't be there. They'd been in each other's presence nearly every moment for over two months. Harry wasn't sure how _not_ to think about Snape, how not to worry about him.

"We are actually not far from Cork," Snape said, breaking the quiet. "That's where we will pick up the ferry."

"Oh, right," Harry said. "What's in the package?" he asked, nodding to the brown parcel.

Snape handed it to him. "You open it. It was waiting for me at the desk. Sent by an A.D.— You'd think the Headmaster would be more creative."

As it turned out, the package was magically sealed and it took Harry five minutes before he figured out how to get it open. Inside were a set of fake muggle IDs, one for Harry and one for Snape, an envelope with more than enough muggle currency to get them home as well as a sack of 30 Galleons. There was a brief handwritten note that read simply, _I look forward to your safe return –A.D._

There was a knock on the door. Harry looked up startled, but Snape raised his hands casually and said, "I had them send up some tea."

He set the tray down on the table and turned to Harry. "You best get some rest," Snape said. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

.o.

.o.

.o.

It was a bright, but blustery day, a sharp autumn wind whipping pink into Harry's cheek. Pulling his sweatshirt a little tighter around himself, he glanced over his shoulder at Snape who followed behind him into the cool fall morning with his hand shoved into his pockets.

Without a word, they left the Inn's property. They walked side by side along the long downhill slope of the dirt road leading from Rathmore House to the main road. It was early still and few people were out, though Harry could hear the distant sound of a dog barking and the wheezing of an old car engine as it puttered down the street.

"I was wrong," Snape said quietly, his gaze focused on the uneven road in front of them.

Wide-eyed, Harry could only stare back at Snape, waiting to hear the explanation that followed.

"Partially wrong," Snape amended with a slight twitch of a smile. "I told you that emotions make you weak, that you must control them."

He fell quiet, collecting his thoughts as they walked. Harry dared not interrupt him for whatever Snape was about to say was important.

"But that's not true of you," Snape admitted gently. "Each of your emotions gave you strength every time you needed impetus. Your love, just as much as your hatred, set that dormant magic within you free. Though you must learn to _curb_ your emotions, knowing the power it can give you."

Snape paused for a moment, lost in thought. "I think it is this," he continued, "that will set you apart from the Dark Lord… it's what sets you apart from me."

"We're not so different, you and I," Harry said. "You don't believe in yourself the way you believe in me. You _think_ you're all detached and heartless and insignificant, but _I_ know better."

"Do you?" Snape questioned with a smirk, an eyebrow raised. "Do tell, Mr. Potter."

"You're a big softie," Harry grinned. "But don't worry, I won't tell the first years. I'll let you scare the stuffing out of them."

"Good because you have to frighten them on their first day or else you've lost them for seven years," Snape replied.

Harry laughed right out loud.

"What?" Snape demanded. "I'm completely serious!"

"I know!" Harry cried.

"Mr. Potter it is not too early, nor are we too far from Hogwarts, for me to begin _taking points_ from Gryffindor," Snape replied.

"You'd do it, too," Harry complained, but still with a grin on his face.

.o.

.o.

.o.

There were a lot of people milling around the docks when they arrived, taking advantage of the nice Saturday before the fall weather got too cold. A seagull swooped low overhead and perched on a stack of coiled rope, looking hopefully at passersby for scraps of food.

"There are tickets waiting for us at the counter," Snape said and they joined the queue. Again, Harry felt his temper rising at how easy it all was. They were _still_ wanted by Death Eaters, but Harry had to admit that they were no longer stalling for time. Apparently Hogwarts was safe for them now and Dumbledore wanted them back as soon as possible.

The last person in front of him moved aside and Harry requested the two tickets being held for him under the name on his fake ID.

"Here you are," said the clerk, pushing the two tickets for the ferry towards Harry. "I just need you or your Dad to sign here." She pointed to the dashed line on the receipt.

Harry looked up, startled. "He's not my Dad," he whispered.

"Oh, my mistake," she said brightly. She looked at Harry expectantly and Harry dumbly stared back.

Snape leaned over Harry, slapping his fake ID on the counter and scribbled an illegible signature on the line. He took the tickets with a mumbled "thanks", then ushered Harry away from the counter with prod at his back.

Something was warring within him— For many weeks now, Harry had been careful not to put his father and Snape together in his mind because he didn't like how the emotions about them were overlapping.

Snape _wasn't_ his father and Harry didn't want him to be. Before, it had been very clear— James had loved him and Harry loved him back and Snape had hated him and Harry hated him back.

But now—

_What the hell are we now?_ Harry thought. The truth of it was that they were some kind of family unit, he and Snape. Kind of like how Harry was a foster child of the Weasleys and Hogwarts was his real home. Snape was just as much a part of his family now as Ron or Hermione.

Harry snapped back to the present moment, looking up suddenly at Snape. "Professor, what I said back there," Harry began as they waited in the line to board the ferry. "I didn't mean anything by it. She just surprised me, that's all."

"I know, Potter," Snape said. And Harry saw that he _did_ know. It made him smile.

.o.

.o.

.o.

The boat rocked pleasantly as it steadily departed from the harbor. The sea air was salty and cold and it clung to Harry's face unpleasantly. But he didn't complain. He noticed that Snape liked the sea, seemed to calm a bit while watching the undulating waves. Harry didn't know if his observational skills were improving or if it was the link he now shared with Snape that permitted him further insight, but he suspected the latter was true.

"You are very much like James," Snape said, staring out at the water. At first, Harry thought it an odd comment, but realized he must have been thinking about it since the ticket line.

"Yeah you've told me," Harry grinned, remembering all those barbed comments about his father that Snape had flung at him through the years.

"You cannot deny your constant rule-breaking and penchant for attracting trouble," Snape said. "You resemble him quiet a bit," Snape added. "Except your eyes—those are your mother's."

While Harry had heard this before, not many people had told him things about his mother. He'd heard a few things here and there, but most people he encountered had known James.

"You knew my mother," Harry said quietly. It wasn't a question. There had been that moment of delirium when Snape was bleeding out all over the Brennon's cottage floor and he'd confused Harry for his mother— and Harry had seen those memories Snape had wanted to hide, swirling clear as day in the pensieve during his fifth year. It was still a sensitive issue and they hadn't really talked about it before. He didn't think Snape would want to now.

Though it was becoming uncomfortably cold with the wind blowing through the deck as the boat made its way out to sea, Harry dared not move or say another word. If there was ever a moment that Snape might tell him about Lily, it was now.

Harry held his breath, waiting.

"Lily was clever and elegant in a way most woman will never know," Snape said softly. "It was difficult not to like her and she was kind to most everybody. She had integrity—had red hair that would rival the Weasley's and green eyes—your green eyes."

"What was she like at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, trying to ask _hundreds_ of questions simply in one.

"I didn't really know her," Snape confessed. "I wish I could tell you what you want to know. I can tell you, however, that she knew her potions— clearly that was a skill _not_ passed down to you. She was strong competition— she and I were constantly vying for the number one spot in advanced potions."

"Really?" Harry couldn't believe it. Not that his mother was good at potions but that _anyone_ had ever given Snape a run for his money in potions.

"Yes, which is why it was so disappointing to discover how dreadful you are at it."

"I'm not that bad!" Harry insisted.

"Mr. Potter, I daresay a _troll_ could do better," Snape replied, but not without a trace of humor.

"You just have ridiculously high and unfair expectations," Harry muttered. He crossed his arms over his chest, but not out of bad feeling. It was colder now that the ferry had picked up speed.

"Why don't you go inside?" Snape suggested, noticing Harry's discomfort. "Find someplace to sit. I'll join you in a moment."

Harry nodded and walked towards the door to the inside cabin. With a last glance as he reached the door, Harry saw that Snape was lost in his thoughts, no doubt remembering his long-ago past at Hogwarts and wondering about his future there.

.o.

.o.

.o.

There were still many hours to go in their voyage, but Harry was glad for this time with Snape. At first, he had wondered why Dumbledore had not just arranged for a portkey right from Cork, but thought that maybe the Headmaster was sensitive to the fact that returning to Hogwarts would be a bit of an adjustment for them after weeks of not knowing when they would be allowed to return if ever. Harry needed time to get used to the idea, to turn it over in his mind that his upside-down world would be returning to some semblance of order.

While grateful for the time, Harry's thoughts were now going round in circles of worry.

A thousand different qualms fluttered through Harry's mind— _I wonder how Ron and Hermione are—it will be good to see them— How much have I missed?— I'll need new books— the Slytherins will be even worse this year— Does anyone know where I've been?— I can just imagine what the rumors will be like— How did I do on my O.W.L.'s?— I know that I failed at least—_

"I didn't tell you," Snape began quietly, interrupting Harry's worrisome thoughts. "Dumbledore's message said that it took no less than five Aurors to unseal the ruins."

Harry stared at him, caught unawares. That was the furthest thing from his mind.

"That's very powerful magic, Harry," he said. "And the Death Eaters inside were taken into Ministry custody."

"I didn't kill them," Harry said, relieved.

"I told you that if you had killed them you would have known it," Snape said.

"They got Bellatrix too?" Harry asked.

"Yes. She's back in Azkaban," Snape replied.

"Until she breaks out again," Harry mumbled.

A part of him wished for some harsher form of justice for the Death Eaters who had tormented and nearly killed Snape. But the other part of him knew that slaughtering them would not reseal the part that had been rent open when he thought Snape had been killed— _tortured to death._ That horror he would remember, would feel it piercing his heart until the day he died. No amount of killing could ever mend that tear or take it back.

Questions about the magic link between himself and Snape still swam in Harry's mind, but there was nothing he could do about that. They would have to take it in stride— test and measure and accept whatever the consequences turned out to be.

Feeling suddenly tired, Harry imagined his warm dormitory and four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower and thought that he would like special permission to sleep for a week. Although, taking a long soak in the Prefects bath was also a tempting idea.

_Maybe Ron can sneak me in,_ Harry mused.

Turning thoughtfully to Snape, he asked, "What's the first thing you'll do once you get back?"

"I suppose I'll report to Dumbledore," Snape said. "He'll want to debrief me—he'll want to see you as well, Harry."

"No, I mean, after that," Harry said. "What is it you want to do most?"

"Sleep," Snape said. "For a week at least."

Harry grinned. "And then I want the house-elves to recreate the start of term feast complete with warm pitchers of butterbeer."

Now it was Snape's turn to smile. "Mr. Potter, butterbeer is not an appropriate beverage for the Hogwarts dining hall and I highly doubt that even you would be able to get the house-elves to serve you butterbeer at the school."

"Don't be so sure," Harry said with an impish grin. "I happen to know someone who works in the kitchen."

"Of course you do," Snape replied.

They continued with lighthearted conversation, everything from the so-called sixth-year slump to uncommon Quidditch plays, until the sun began the arc of its decent and the ferry arrived at its destination.

.o.

.o.

.o.

As they departed the port, it took them a few minutes to gain their bearings and figure out exactly which way to the portkey. The sun was setting, casting warm light and blue shadows against the side of the building where they stood.

"It shouldn't be too far," Snape said looking at a city map. "It's in an alley next to Jimmy's Pub on Thayer Street."

"What does this portkey look like?" Harry asked.

Folding the map and shoving into his pocket, Snape said, "It's a burst bicycle tire."

Side by side they walked through the city streets, the urban noise jarring after weeks spent in the quiet Irish countryside.

Harry's stomach twisted nervously as he saw the sign for Thayer Street. _This is it_, he thought.

Looking at all the junk in the alley, Harry imagined that maybe it wasn't there—maybe there'd been a problem and a portkey hadn't been placed— but it was there, flat and decrepit, leaning unobtrusively against the brick side of Jimmy's Pub.

Snape glanced at Harry and together they reached for the tire. A lurching instant later they were at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Feeling dizzy, Harry blinked trying to find focus.

Snape braced Harry's elbow briefly before moving ahead. "Come," he said. "Let us go home."

The castle loomed overhead, large and impressive, never failing to amaze Harry with its grandeur. A few more steps and they would be on Hogwarts school grounds.

Harry stopped suddenly, staring up at the huge castle. He couldn't believe it—after all this time he was finally coming home.

Snape turned, looking back at him with a questioning look. "We're almost there, Potter. Don't stop now."

But he couldn't bring himself to move. Harry shook his head. "I'm not ready," he declared, quiet but resolute.

"Of course you are," Snape said.

But Harry took two steps backward, shaking his head in a vehement _no._

"We could just _go_," Harry whispered. "You and I— We could just disappear."

"Harry," Snape chided softly.

His voice quickening with insistence, Harry said, "We could go where no one would find us. You could train me—we could figure this link thing out."

"You know we can't do that," Snape said. "What about the Dark Lord? I can't protect you—I wish to God that I could—but I know I'm not strong enough… not now. I can't risk you—_I won't_."

Harry knew he was right, knew that Snape would die protecting him if they left, and Harry couldn't bear that, but he still said stubbornly, _"I'll protect us." _

"I understand that you're nervous—."

"Things will change!" Harry shouted. "Once we go through those doors _this_ will never be the same," he said angrily, gesturing between himself and Snape. "Five years of sneering and antagonizing and looking down your nose can't be reversed— what was it for? How can you expect me to just—just _accept_ this—just allow everything to—to—."

"What are you frightened of?" Snape asked softly.

"That _this_ will stop. You'll forget," Harry whispered. "_We'll_ forget. You'll hate me again… we'll hate each other. I don't want to go back to that, not after this, not after everything..."

"Harry," Snape said with a gentle laugh. "I assure you that I won't forget. How could I _ever_— there is literally a piece of your magic within me, keeping me from falling apart— I couldn't forget you or what happened even if I wanted to. You'll always be with me."

"You can't treat me the same as before—as if nothing at all happened this summer," Harry insisted.

"If you're asking for special treatment then you shall be disappointed," Snape replied. "I will not favor you over the other students."

"Yeah, because you've never done _that_ before," Harry retorted.

Snape paused, and then asked, "What is it you want from me, Harry?"

"I want—," Harry paused, thinking. "I want you to come to my Quidditch practices."

Despite Snape's puzzled look he went on. "I want you to acknowledge me if you see me in the hallway—you don't have to say anything, just a look will do. I want to be able to visit you without the guise of remedial potions. I want to know that I can talk to you and that you'll be there to listen."

Snape studied him seriously, his black eyes searching Harry's green ones before saying, "I can do all those things."

An easy smile spread across Harry's face.

"But don't expect me to root for Gryffindor," Snape added.

Harry's smile broadened into a grin. "You still want to back the losing side? Face it—Slytherin is never going to win the Quidditch cup."

"Oh ye of little faith," Snape said. "I'll be sure to take detailed notes during your practices and give full reports back to my little Slytherins." Then he added with a hint of seriousness, "Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?"

_He's giving me a backdoor_, Harry thought. _A way to change my mind about him…_

"No. There's no reconsidering," Harry replied. "I want you there." _I want you in my life._

Reaching out, Snape surprised him by affectionately cupping his cheek. It took no thought at all; Harry launched himself at Snape, throwing his arms around him and Snape hugged him back.

"Why does this feel like goodbye?" Harry asked quietly, cheek pressed against Snape's chest.

"Because in a way, it is," Snape answered, brushing his fingers through Harry's hair. "You must understand, Harry, that circumstances will not be as they are now."

"I know," Harry admitted.

"It's all right, Harry," Snape whispered. "It will be all right."

Harry nodded, pulling away from him. It would be all right. Snape wasn't going anywhere.

Harry was ready now.

They approached the large doors of the Great Hall in silence, looking up at the massive expanse of castle looming before them. It was late and most everyone was asleep. No one was there to receive them. Dumbledore had not told anyone of their coming so that they could arrive safely in secret. Harry suspected that the Headmaster had refrained from coming down to avoid arousing suspicion, though he was sure that Dumbledore knew the second they had set foot on the grounds.

Snape glanced at Harry as the doors opened. He gently gripped his shoulder before walking past Harry into the castle.

Harry cast a final look behind him, savoring the last moment, and then he took a deep breath before disappearing behind the solid wood doors into the start of a new journey.

_Fin_

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Author's notes:

It's all done. _Finally_, right? First off I want to give a huge and heartfelt _thank you_ to every person who reviewed, emailed me, commented on my LJ, or read this story. I have come into contact with so many wonderful, wonderful people because of this fic. At times the outpouring of response just overwhelmed me! Your patience and support has meant more to me than you know.

As of this writing (April, 2007) I'm not sure if a sequel will happen. All I can say is check back here, or drop by my LJ (griseldajane . livejournal . com) from time to time because I'll most likely post my intentions there.

I hope we all have a great Book 7 experience! (You know I'll be a basket case come July!)

Feel free to friend me. No need to ask. Email is linked in the bio page. Don't be a stranger!

With love,

Li


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